


sing out at the ropes

by midnightluck



Category: One Piece
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-06-30 01:44:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 26,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15741597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightluck/pseuds/midnightluck
Summary: Short stories featuring Ace, Sabo, and the rest of these dumb pirates. A tumblr post collection.





	1. the sea ends at the horizon

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Melville's _Redburn._ My tumblr ask box is open and here's some of the stuff that's come out of that. Will be updated probably infrequently and in batches oops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for Ace and Rouge reunion in the afterlife

“Shit,” Ace says, only he’s faceplanted on the ground so it comes out more like, “spbt.”

That wasn’t quite how he’d wanted that to go. Well, Luffy was safe and he’s no longer feeling his spine melting into his lungs, so there’s already at least one benefit. He gets his hands under him and pushes up to stand.

It’s dark here, is his first thought, but he blinks and it isn’t anymore. It’s as bright as any perfect afternoon, calm and open, blue as far as the horizon and then further still.  


He takes one step and falls flat again, because although he’s standing on nothing in particular, that nothing has the familiar soothing roll of the sea and he wasn’t expecting that. He doesn’t really mind, though, or at least he doesn’t until somebody laughs at him.  


It’s loud, too. Loud and happy and at his expense, and he pushes himself upright again to tell whoever it is exactly what he thinks of them, but his eyes catch on sunshine and he may as well have fallen over again.

“Oh,” he says, and Portgas D. Rouge covers her mouth, but it doesn’t stop the giggles. “Uh,” he says, staring. “Hi?”

“You fell twice!” is the first thing she says to her son. “The last person to do that was Roger!”

The comparison gets to him, and he flares up. “Hey! I just lost most of my stomach! _Sorry_ if my center of balance is a bit _off!”  
_

“Aw, no,” she croons, and sweeps in to gather him into a hug. “It’s just cute, you know?” She pets his hair and he puts his arms around her and inhales sea and sweat and hibiscus. “You’re just like your father.”

“M’not,” he mutters. “My Pops is Whitebeard.”

“Course he is,” Rouge says, rocking gently in place. It’s soothing. “And he’s here too, and you can meet him and Roger and–” Ace makes a grumpy sound, and she laughs at him again. He can’t quite bring himself to mind.  


“Hello, darling,” she says, finally, and he can hear the smile in her voice. “It’s so nice to meet you at last! Welcome to heaven.”

“Looks a lot like the sea,” he says, but his eyes are closed against her skin. He’s gonna take this as long as it’s on offer.  


“Of course it does, honey,” Rouge tells him, and her voice is full of the promise of adventure and laughter. “We’re pirates, after all. What else could it be?”


	2. ghosts and dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for Ace casually conversing with actually-not-a-hallucination Sabo

“Hey, Ace,” Sabo says, and Ace nods distractedly at him.

“I’m sleeping just fine,” he says on habit, because the hallucinations usually come to scold him when he hasn’t been.

Sabo blinks at him, and Ace keeps splicing line. “That’s…good?” he says hesitantly. “I’m…glad to hear it?”

That’s unusual. He tilts his head up, but the fake Sabo’s head is between him and the sun and is all shadowy. “Where’ve you been, anyway?” he asks, more to keep hearing that voice than because he expects an answer.

But fake Sabo huffs and sits down next to him. “Would you believe I forgot?” he asks.

He _forgot?_ He’s a ghost; what the hell else does he have to do with his time? Of course, there’s only one answer to that. “Luffy?”

Fake Sabo sighs, huge and overdone. “He is the _worst_ ,” he says, and Ace makes a sympathetic noise and nods. It’s enough, and fake Sabo continues, “Did you even hear what he just did? No, of course you didn’t; let me tell you. He went to Lougetown.”

Oh, Ace had heard about that, actually. “Went to see the platform, right? And tore up the plaza?”

Fake Sabo beams at him. “He really is your little brother, isn’t he?”

Ace smiles back because he can’t do otherwise. “I taught him well,” he agrees, and then fake Sabo makes a sound and pulls a piece of paper out of his coat pocket.

“Look, I brought you this,” he says, unfolding it to reveal a Wanted Poster for one Strawhat Luffy. Not a bad bounty for someone who hasn’t even left East Blue, really. “Isn’t it a good picture?”

Absolutely it is, but Ace doesn’t reach out to take it. Usually fake Sabo shows up to lecture him about his health, so he’s going to enjoy talking about Luffy as long as he can before he finishes falling asleep or waking up, whichever he’s doing.

“You have a little brother?” someone asks, and Ace looks up to see Thatch. “Can I see?”

And fake Sabo hands the Wanted Poster up to Thatch, who takes it. Thatch holds it and looks at it and it doesn’t disappear, and neither does fake Sabo. Ace blinks.

“He’s cute,” Haruta says, popping up next to Thatch to look at it too. “Look at that smile.”

And then Marco leans over Thatch’s shoulder. “I know that hat, yoi,” he says, and doesn’t sound best pleased about it.

“His name’s Luffy!” Fake Sabo says, throwing his arms out for emphasis. “He’s a lot of trouble, but he’s the best little brother ever.”

“He’s your little brother too?” Haruta asks. “Do you and Ace know each other, then?”

Fake Sabo scoots over a bit and throws his arm around Ace’s neck. “We’re Luffy’s big brothers,” he says proudly, and rubs Ace’s hair in exactly the way that means it won’t lay flat til he washes it.

Ace can’t even be mad, though, because he’s staring at Sabo. Sabo, who’s touching him and interacting with people; Sabo who brought a Wanted Poster that’s probably physical; Sabo who’s maybe not so fake after all.

“But aren’t you a Revolutionary?” Thatch is asking from far away, and Ace grabs for the meat of the thumb, tucks his chin and ducks.

He slips the headlock but it takes effort, and he instantly launches himself back forward to tackle (fake?) Sabo, who goes down with a yelp.

“What was that for?” Sabo demands, and Ace stares down at him.

“Am I dreaming,” he says, and then, “ _Sabo,”_ because he can’t let himself believe it.

“What?” Sabo says, and goes for the nose. Ace jerks back on instinct and Sabo wiggles free and sits back up. “What was that for? Of course you’re not dreaming.”

“But,” Ace says, and can’t finish. He can’t even blink or look away to see if everyone else is seeing what he is, because if he does then Sabo might vanish again.

“But what, Ace?” Sabo says, straightening his collar and fluffing his cravat. “If you don’t use your words then you can’t expect me to–”

That’s _such_ a Sabo thing to say. “You’re not dead!” Ace accuses, standing up and pointing at him. “You! You’re an idiot! And not dead!”

Definitely-not-fake Sabo looks up at him with his best pissy face on. “Of course I’m not dead,” he says. “I never died. Really, Ace. Didn’t we just have this conversation…?”

“Yeah,” Ace hisses, “back when I thought I was dreaming you again! You don’t get to just show up here all–all _not-dead!”_

“So, what? You want me to go die?” Sabo says in the silky awful way he does instead of yelling, and of course it’s Sabo, how could Ace doubt it? He’d forgotten all these little details.

“Don’t you dare!” Ace yells in his face, and offers him a hand up. Sabo takes it and Ace doesn’t let go. “You don’t get to go die again! Not ever!”

“I never did in the first place!” But Sabo pulls him in close and doesn’t let go either. “I didn’t die, Ace; I only forgot.”

Ace raises tentative fingers to the scar, and Sabo closes his eyes and lets him. The skin there is slick and bumpy, pulled tight. It feels just like a burn would, and he pushes his entire hand over that eye.

Sabo opens his other one. “I only forgot,” he says, “and only for a while.”

Well. Okay. That’s okay, then. This is really Sabo, a Sabo who’s actually here and never was dead, and for all the impossible happens daily on the Grand Line, this is a miracle he never looked for.

It’s Sabo.

“Okay,” he says, and then closes his own eyes and tips their foreheads together like they used to after nightmares. “Okay,” he says again, then pulls back and sits back down.

He still has line to splice, after all, but chores are better in company. “Tell me about Luffy, then,” he says, hands busy and eyes turned upwards.

And Sabo laughs, loud and happy, and sits back down. “Of course,” he says, and he does.


	3. the sky's no limit (can't hold me down)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for demigod Ace a la Wonder Woman

_Son of Roger and Rouge_ , they say of him. _Son of the wind and the song of the sea_.

His name is _Ace_ , he tells them, and they nod and say that of course it is, he is Ace, Son of Roger and Rouge, they know that perfectly well.

 _Rouge and Roger,_ he corrects, because one of them deserves a hell of a lot more credit than the other, and they tilt their heads with a bemused smile and just nod.

So he steps out into the world of humans for a while, because at least there no one cares. Humanity’s biggest advantage and flaw is their arrogance, and they will never look at one who treads on their same ground and think, _god_. They never imagine strangers to be their betters, so they talk down to him and dismiss him and ignore him, and it’s all just so refreshing.

Humans are wonderful, he finds. The problem with the heavens is that they are static; there’s no change or growth or new ideas, because why mess with what’s perfect? But the humans aren’t like that at all; they run before they can crawl. They hurt themselves in their curiosity and call it worthwhile. They do something they know doesn’t work for the sheer pleasure to be had in being _right_.

They’re fleeting and dangerous and oh so petty, but they look to the world and see wonder, and they teach him how to see it too.

One day he meets a man old enough to _remember_ , to look at him and know. The man asks his name anyway, because these are the old high manners; to assume is ruder than to beg verification. _Ace_ , he says, and the man nods and says, _Rouge’s son_. His lungs seize and he wonders if he’s glitching, but it’s not that–it’s happiness. It’s comfort. It’s pride in his name, and so he nods and doesn’t respond, and when the man invites Ace into his crew for as long as he’d like to stay, Ace can only swallow and nod.

He makes friends. He finds family. He learns how to forget his past to live in the moment because he’s never been happy like this, not in his whole long life.  
  
But the trouble with humans is their arrogance and their jealousy and their greed, and when one brother turns on another, he isn’t expecting it. No one was, but he ought to have seen it, _why_ didn’t he see it? Here lies one of his chosen brothers, beloved of Sanji, the god of wrathful cooks, and Ace’s lungs glitch again, and his words crowd his throat.

And he does the only thing he can, in this guise he’s adopted, and he traps his brother’s soul before it can flee. _You are beloved_ , he says, and ushers it upwards, into the night sky. There’s gasps and murmurs around him, but his focus is absolute. It’s the least he can do, for this human who loved him, to paint his portrait in stars and let his soul look down from the spaces between.  
  
And with that, there’s only one thing left to do. They call him the son of Roger and Rouge and they remember that Roger laid claim to the seas and Rouge dances the wind at her bidding. They so often forget that Ace is more than the sum of his parents.

So he draws upon his heritage and takes his aspect upon him, cloaking himself in flames and fury, and he goes forth into the night to wreak bloody vengeance on those that would _dare_ to steal from him.

He is the god of passion and loyalty, his is the domain of fire, and maybe it’s time they _remember_ that.

 

* * *

 

Luffy is the youngest, even now, but he’s the god of adventure and freedom (and maybe gluttony). It's fine when he's young but when he grows older, keeping him all locked up in heaven, looking down at the seas and watching over everyone who has adventures, is about the cruelest thing that can possibly be done.

For his coming of age, they gift him a ship. He cries with joy, and everyone cries with him because it’s such a strong, pure emotion. That’s the thing about paradise, isn’t it? There’s no need for anything besides peace, and the depth and honesty of the feeling can’t be denied.

So Luffy doesn’t saunter down, like Ace eventually will. He barrels down, he jumps, he freefalls and loves every second because it’s all _new_ and isn’t that _amazing???_

The _Going Merry_ is magic, because of course it is. Every god deserves a chariot, and there’s none that ever was or shall be as faithful as the _Going Merry_. It is made strong, to live and last, and she learns to love, because who can’t learn to love, bathed in joy as she always is? 

And her captain, her hero, her god and her love, he loves her back, and together they go forth. Luffy finds the lost, the lonely, the broken, the outcasts, the _deserving_ , and he gathers them up. He brings them together and creates something new, and even the gods look down in breathless awe because there hasn’t been anything new since they ascended. 

He gathers a family and he claims them, though he doesn’t know it. He binds them to him by deed and word and love, and his tithes are always paid in blood.

Because, see, the thing about Luffy is, he accepts you for what you are and loves so fully, that you can never be anything less than the truest, best version of you. He makes you strive to be better, not because you ask _what would Luffy do_ but because you ask _what would Luffy want me to do_? And the answer to that is always, _exactly as you please_ , but you push past it to achieve your dreams because you can’t possibly do less.

And when one day he says, _I’m homesick_ , or if one day he says, _they’re calling_ , or if maybe it’s more like, _let’s go to heaven!_ , well, his crew nods and smiles and swears to follow him anywhere.

 _Of course you will_ , he says, and never doubts, and faith and fealty are stronger than logic, so the _Going Merry_ takes flight and everyone holds their breath, even the gods.

And they hit the horizon, and then they hit heaven, and then they _keep going_.


	4. shackled only by freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Came out of a conversation with @ohshanksno; title is from Smokey and the Bandit. The song, not the movie

The sloop bumps up against the dock and Sabo steps up and out. It hasn’t changed much, he finds, looking around. The city is still bright and clean and shiny, a happy bubble that’s exactly that deep.

It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but that’s fine; he’s not staying. Koala joins him and they tie off the boat. She slips away to presumably pay for the slip and Sabo sets his hat, lifts his chin, and sets off into High Town.

He keeps his eyes forward and his shoulders back as he walks. It’s been a long time since he walked these streets, but the feelings come back like it was minutes; bitterness, anger, and the clawing sense of guilt and defiance that he’s since built his spine out of.

The path along the coast isn’t the most direct route but he takes it anyway and walks with purpose. Koala falls in behind his right shoulder long before the walls give way to the greenery of a forest that was more home to him than the city ever was.

There’s a small noise from Koala behind him when the stench hits them but Sabo’s already falling back into the pattern of slow, shallow breaths. The initial revolution will pass; it always does.

He doesn’t recognize any of the piles but he feels like he should. That’s where the old refrigerator once stood, right? There’s only bags there now, and the paths are a much darker kind of dingy.

He doesn’t stop to check if it’s ash or not.

But then there’s the twisted, sharp metal spike they used to call the Tower and Sabo reorients and aims a bit further east. Out this way, everything is familiar which makes sense; why would anything ever change on the outskirts of a dump no one visits?

He’s taking the shortcut over a pile before he thinks about it, and there’s a brief moment of disconnect where his muscle memory is scrabbling for footholds that his adult body doesn’t need. It’s easier now, though, and the controlled skid down the other side is just the same, even down to the hop to the concrete block, and from there to the half-ladder, the step to the wood plank that was probably a bookshelf at some point, careful of the creaky bit, and he makes the leap to the ground easy as breathing.

The trees that mark the secret path are still there, of course; the canopies are still growing together, all tangled and magical-looking. He has to duck under a low branch that he never had to before, but the air here is cleaner and lighter, and so is his heart.

The path takes rather shorter to walk than he remembers and the sun’s still in the sky when he sidles out of the woods and pauses.

It looks like he remembers, painted in the sunset like this. Everything looks _exactly_ the same; it’s like time paused on this island, and he swallows that thought bitterly because it didn’t. Time isn’t that kind.

He had thought to get there a bit later but this works, too; the bar may not be open, but there’s lights on in the window. His steps stutter for a second as he breathes deep and clenches his hands by his sides, but he doesn’t stop.

One hand goes up to take off his hat even as the other pushes at the door. It’s unlocked because of course it is; no one’s worried about safety in this village. It opens as easy as memory and this is where he stops.

“We’re not open yet,” comes a voice and he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten it, but he recognizes it instantly.

She’s shorter than he remembers, is his first thought, but she’s not–it’s because they’re the same height now. She’s still as pretty as ever, though, still young and lovely, though there’s a quietness in her eyes and grief on her shoulders–he knows that weight intimately.

Her smile is the same and it hits him like a punch when she turns. It’s so familiar and it takes his breath right away for a whole moment before he takes a step in, hearing Koala close the door from the outside, and bows deep, with his hat across his chest. It’s not a greeting.

“I’m sorry,” he says because that’s the most important thing. Her gasp is quiet and wet and small, but then small hands are pushing at his shoulders, lifting him up and coming to rest on his cheeks.

Then her arms go around him and it’s too tight and it feels like safety. “Don’t,” she says, and his arms lay limp by his sides as she squeezes hard. “Don’t be sorry for being alive.”

“I’m not,” he says, even if it tastes bitter on his tongue. “That’s not—I wasn’t there, and he—I’m _sorry.”_

She’s crying, quiet, but it’s shaking her frame and him too. He stands there and looks over her shoulder into the distance. “I miss him too,” she says, buring her face into his shoulder, “but thank you– _thank you_ for coming back. Thank you for being alive.”

And just like that, he’s crying too, clinging back to her just as tight as she is to him. She’s–no one’s ever been grateful he’s alive, no one but Ace and that's—

His knees are weak enough that when she leans further in, they both go down to the floor. He uses it to pull her in closer and cries into her dress, tears of grief and joy and absolution.

Makino must miss Ace just as much as he does but she’s not blaming him; he’s the only one doing that, isn’t he? Then she pulls back, smiling at him with a wet, puffy face and she says, “Welcome home, Sabo.”

It is, isn’t it? This is his home, so he leans back in to wrap her up in his arms, smiling, and he says, “I’m home.”


	5. there's more than one kind of trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was Dragon gets locked out at night

Dragon stares at his front door. It fails to magically open.

He sighs, slings his heavy backpack off his shoulder, and pulls out his phone. _lemme in_ , he mass-texts everyone that should be home.

 _Belay that. No one let him in,_ come not even thirty seconds later from a number he doesn’t know, followed by, _If he can’t be bothered to show up at a decent time or remember his key, he doesn’t deserve to be let in._

He sighs. _lemme in,_ he texts back. _also, koala stp stealing the noobs phnes_

_Do not let him in. Maybe he can use the time to learn how to spell._

Well, fine. Ivankov should be awake. He scrolls through his contacts and hits dial.

It rings, and it rings, and it still rings, but eventually the call connects in a blast of sound that has him pulling the phone away from his ear immediately. “Draaaaaagon, darling!” Iva’s voice screams over the music. “Hello! I love you! I love everyone, and I can _taste music_!”

Right. He hangs up. There’s another text from yet another number that says, _And don’t even think of calling Sabo_ , but Ivankov is clearly not home nor in any state to help, so he’s down to his last resort.

Although this has equal odds of working and backfiring spectacularly, he hits his second-in-command’s number and presses dial.

Sabo picks up on the second ring. Or rather, the call connects but there’s no acknowledgement, no sound.

“Need your help,” Dragon says, taking the gamble. “Come to the front door.”

The sound of acknowledgement he gets is not words, which means this is probably going to end poorly.

There’s a noise above him and he glances up, then doubletakes and has to drop his phone and _move_ because there’s Sabo, trying to climb out his window but not nearly awake enough for it. He catches something on the pane and flops forward.

Dragon barely catches the boy plunging out the third story window and he ends up tipping over, cushioning Sabo’s fall with his own body.

“Hey,” he says, and Sabo mumbles at him, then twitches, curls up and goes back to sleep.

He lays there, looking up at the stars as his second-in-command sleeps on top of him, feeling around for his phone with his one free hand.

He eventually gets it up and it’s not even broken, thankfully. He awkwardly perches it against Sabo’s shoulder and pulls up the texting program with one hand. _help_ , he sends to Koala’s number. 

_I told you not to call him,_ yet another number texts him within ten seconds, but while she may be willing to let him sleep outside, she’ll come rescue Sabo.

Surely she will. She respects Sabo, doesn’t she? More than him, anyway.

“No one respects me,” he tells Sabo, and Sabo burrows into his neck and snores softly at him. Dragon huffs and lets his phone and head fall to the pavement.

Well, at least the stars are nice tonight. He tucks his free hand under his head and breathes. It’s nice to be home, he thinks, and waits for Koala to come save him.


	6. dithering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was Sabo and Marco and Sabo not trusting them

“I can’t tell if you hate us or not,” Marco says.

Sabo smiles at him because it’s not like he can say _me either_. “You’re the most powerful crew on the Grand Line,” he says instead. “It would be dumb to hate you.”

Marco stares at him for a second. “That’s a very good point, yoi. It doesn’t answer my question, though.”

“You didn’t ask one,” Sabo points out, and takes great joy in the way Marco carefully doesn’t grind his teeth. 

“Are you naturally this obtuse, yoi?”

“I worked very hard to get this far, actually. Thank you for noticing.”

Marco opens his mouth to retort, then takes a breath instead. There’s a few beats of silence as Sabo watches Marco struggle to phrase whatever he’s trying to ask exactly right.

“Is there anything I can do to make you trust us?” is what he eventually says, which is a valid enough question that Sabo does him the decency of thinking it over.

Finally, he begrudgingly says, “Ace trusts you,” which is not a direct answer but also everything Marco needs to know. 

And Marco can tell, too, because for all Sabo loves teasing him, he’s far from dumb. He gives Sabo a sharp-eyed look and says, “And Ace is a better judge of character than you, yoi.”

Well. “No,” Sabo answers, “Not quite.”

Marco nods, though, like he expected that. “So you trust him more than yourself, yoi. Thought it might be something like that.“

And if he needed proof that Marco is a big brother, there it is. “Didn’t say that, either,” Sabo tells him and grins. Just because it’s true is no reason to let him think so.

“We will take care of him, yoi,” Marco says, blatantly ignoring his misdirection. “We have a reputation for it, don’t we?”

And Sabo turns on him. “ _Reputation_ ,” he scoffs. “And you wonder why I don’t trust you? Ace is worth more than your _reputation_ , and if you took him in out of obligation–”

“We didn’t,” Marco interrupts, which is good because Sabo had been very close to saying something he oughtn’t’ve. “We took him in because he’s smart and loyal and hurting, and because he let us.”

And Ace did, and he would, and the fact that Ace keeps letting people in is both humbling and hurtful. “And that’s why I hate you,” Sabo lies, because that’s really the exact reason he can’t. They stole Ace and he hates them because of it, but Ace _let them_ , and for that he never could. 

Marco just nods though. “That’s fine,” he says. 

“It is?”

“Sure, yoi. You can say that you hate and mistrust us, and you can mean it all you want.”

“I–”

“But we love Ace, and he loves you, so we’re always going to welcome you anyway, yoi,” Marco finishes. 

Well. That’s–that’s not nothing. Sabo blinks. “Okay,” he says.

Marco glaces sideways at him. “Okay?”

“Sure, okay,” Sabo says, shrugging. “If you say so.”

There’s suspicion in Marco’s gaze. “You don’t have to pretend to trust us, you know.”

“But you’d get worried if I didn’t,” Sabo says, and he grins again, hoping it covers the horrible realization that he really might trust this crew with Ace after all.


	7. familiar (but not too familiar)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for Sabo and Marco meeting for the first time. Title is a MBMBAM reference

When he hits the ground, there’s already someone there.

He hangs back for a while, out of respect, but they’re just standing there and staring. The shoulders are tense under the blue coat and there’s an empty bottle of sake dangling from loose fingers.

Finally Marco steps forward anyway because there’s only so long he’s willing to wait, especially for someone he doesn’t recognize. He doesn’t say anything, just steps up and stands next to them, gazing forward.

He doesn’t say, _did you know them_?

He doesn’t say, _why don’t I know your face?_

He doesn’t say anything, because here, in front of his own worst failure, he has nothing at all to say.

The sun sinks behind the stones and Marco stares blankly through it.  There’s a litany of guilt playing behind his eyes, even this much later, and he loses track of the sun and the light and the time. 

And the stranger, who suddenly turns to him and bows. “Thank you,” the stranger says, and Marco startles at the sudden movement.

“What?” he says.

The stranger holds the bow, hat hiding his face and eyes. “Thank you,” he repeats. “I–wasn’t there. But you were, and you fought for him.”

He doesn’t know if they mean Pops or–or _Ace_ , but he swallows because either way, “I let him die,” he says. “I was useless. Don’t thank me. I failed.”

The stranger stands back up, finally, _finally_ , and there’s fire in his eyes and bitterness in the twist of his mouth. “I wasn’t there at all,” he says. “I didn’t even–he was _family_ and I wasn’t even–”

So he’s here for Whitebeard then, which is odd because Marco’s seen a lot of Pop’s children come and go, but he’s never seen this one. He’d remember the scars. 

Then he breathes in sharply and looks away, and Marco goes back to staring at the stones in order to pretend to not notice the tears. 

They’re good stones, he thinks, and loses some time watching that damned hat string dance in the wind.

“Did–” the kid starts, and Marco glances back over. His jaw is set and he pauses for a long minute. “Did you love him?” he finally says, the words coming tumbling over each other. “Did he-did he know he was loved? At the end?”

Well. Marco doesn’t know who this kid or which stone he’s here for, but he knows this answer like he knows the hole in his own heart. “Yes,” he says, because that was true for both of them. “Yes, he knew he was loved.”


	8. a chip off the old block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for wholesome Ace+Whitebeard interactions lol

“I hate you,” Ace says despairingly. “You’re all horrible and I hate every last one of you.”

“Even me?” Haruta asks, perching in his lap and fluttering remarkably long eyelashes at him.

“ _Especially_ you,” Ace says. “You alone are the source of half of my misery.”

“What do you think of this?” Izo asks them. “What do you think, gold? Ace?”

Ace stands so suddenly he dumps Haruta off his lap. “What did you call me?”

“What?”

“What what?”

“I–” Ace stares at the fabric in Izo’s hand, a long drape of shiny gold fabric. “Oh. I thought–never mind.”

* * *

“Nice ink,” Atmos says, slapping Ace on the shoulder, careful to aim for the shoulder. “You must really like the roger, huh?“

“No,” Ace says instantly. “I hate the bastard. He–oh. Oh, you meant the flag. Yes. The flag. I like it.”

“…Yeah,” Atmos says, eyeing him.

Ace flushes, clenching his fists and looking down. “I didn’t–” he says, the takes a breath and lifts his chin. “I didn’t want there to be any doubt.”

“Awwww,” Atmos croons and slings Ace into a gentle headlock. “We love you too.”

* * *

“He thought he could put an engine on a _surfboard_?”

“Nah, it’s not even that. It’s basically a raft, eh, Ace?”

“I’ve never been there! I–oh. Hey! Lay off Striker! It’s gonna be amazing!”

“Ace. It’s a fire-powered surfboard and you can’t _swim_.”

“That’s what the straps are for! It’ll be plenty safe once I get it working! …Why are you guys looking at me like that? Hey! Hey get back here!”

* * *

“I really think we should,” Jozu says. “This guy in my division, he had the idea, and I agree.”

“No,” Rakuyo says, leaning back and absently petting his mace-dog-thing. “I prefer variety.”

“I don’t think you have the authority to dictate what kind of bathing suits our sisters wear,” Haruta says, plopping down out of nowhere.

“But _bikinis_ ,” Jozu protests.

“But variety,” Rakuyo says.

“But _one pieces_ ,” Atmos says. “Don’t you think, Ace?”

Ace slams both hands on the table and surges to his feet. His eyes are twitching and his face is pale and he’s been off for a while, but it’s never been this bad before. “Fine!” he yells. “ _Roger was my father!_ Are you _happy now_?”

He leaves quiet in his wake when he storms out.

“Huh,” Blamenco says. “I did not see that coming.”

“I did,” Haruta says. “C’mon, pay up.”

“You said next week,” Izo protests. “You don’t win anything. Who voted for this week?”

“I dunno,” Vista says, and they all look around.

A hand reaches over Izo’s shoulder and plucks the handful of bills off the table. “Me,” Marco says, and he’s almost not smug, but only almost.


	9. the name game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for the first time Ace called Whitebeard pops

“You think we should wake him up?” Thatch asks, squinting down at Ace.

“Probably,” Marco says, and they both stand there and do nothing.

Ace curls up a bit on his side and mumbles something too quiet to hear.

“Why’s he sleeping out here anyway?”

“Why does Ace do anything? Probably because no one stopped him, yoi.”

“No,” Ace says pretty clearly, then descends into muttering again.

Thatch sighs and then takes a step forward and nudges him with a foot. “Ace? C’mon, you can’t sleep here. You’re blocking the door.”

Ace curls in tighter and says something else, and Marco frowns. Whatever dream he’s having, it doesn’t sound good. “Ace?”

“Pops! No!” Ace exclaims, shooting upright and lighting up, and both Thatch and Marco flinch back from the sudden explosion of movement, noise and fire. Then he blinks, rubs one eye, and looks around. “Huh? What happened?”

“You decided to take a nap in the middle of the hall, that’s what happened,” Thatch says. “You okay there?”

“Mmm? I’m good. Sorry, didn’t mean to.” Ace stretches, then gets up. 

“Sounded like a bad dream, yoi.”

“Oh, no, it was nothing. I was just–”

“Wait,” Thatch interrupts. “Were you dreaming about Pops?”

“What? No!” Ace says, fire licking up around his shoulders.

“You _were_. And you know how I know?” Thatch ignores the fire and leans in, grinning. “Cause you called him _pops_.”

“S-so what?!”

“It’s the first time you’ve called him that, yoi,” Marco says with a small smile. “It’s cute.”

“I’m gonna kill you all,” Ace promises, balling up his hands into fists and taking a threatening step forward.

He’s about as threatening as a kitten. “It’s okay,” Thatch says, grin widening. “I’m only gonna tell absolutely everyone.”

“No!” Ace says, but Thatch is already turning around and bolting for the main deck. Ace is hot on his heels, flushed and angry but no longer flaming. “No! Thatch! I’m gonna kill you! Get back here!”


	10. the trouble with brats is brats is trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for the first time Marco met Shanks

He circles on the thermal and looks down. This is definitely the right area, but where—

Ah, there’s the ship. He banks and flaps a few times, then glides towards the ship on the horizon. When he’s close enough, he lets out his loudest trill and a cry rises to meet his.

Beaks aren’t made for smiling, but his eyes dip and his crest fluffs itself anyway. He circles tighter on the descend, then tilts back, lifts his wings upright and flaps just enough to slow himself before landing perfectly on the ship’s rail and mantling his wings.

“Someone get the captain!” Lucky Roo is calling, and Marco thinks about changing back, but he’s kind of hoping Rouge is still on board and she’s always liked his feathers. She says they’re not as good as flowers in hair, but the blue suits her—

“Hey!” a voice he doesn’t know yells right in his face, and he has to backwing some more to keep his balance through the recoil. “Hey, it’s a bird!”

There’s a loud yelling kid right in his face, far younger than his own teenage years, and the first thing Marco’s bird eyes catch on is the movement of a hand coming at him.

No, nope, oh no—he spreads his wings as wide as they’ll go, digs his talons into the wood, and hisses viciously. There will be _no petting_ , that’s not happening.

Only it apparently is, because the kid ignores every single warning sign and grabs at the feathers on his chest anyway. “Whoa, you’re warm! And your feathers are so soft!”

Marco reminds himself that maiming crewmates is frowned upon and then reminds himself again. Then he sidles away to one side, only the brat follows, hands reaching out again. “Hey, no, come back!”

He jumps, then, and takes off with a few powerful beats of his wings, and circles up to land again on the lookout at the top of the mast. He should be safe enough up here, at least until Roger gets on deck—

“Uwah,” a voice comes, far too close, as the kid comes scrambling up over the edge of the lookout. “I’ve never seen a bird like you before! Is your head on fire?”

He resists the urge to show this kid exactly how on fire he really is, but even a little maiming is unacceptable. Isn’t it? Surely it is. Roger would just laugh but Rayleigh would do that Look and Marco does not wanna deal with that today.

So when the kid reaches out to touch his head (and probably burn his fingers to the _bone_ , holy shit kid, why), Marco hisses again and takes off.

He touches down again on the toprail of the poop deck, right above the navigation room Roger will surely be coming out of any second. He immediately turns his head around to look for the kid and catches him scrambling up the mast towards the very top.

He keeps an eye on the kid and watches the absolute _idiot_ swing for a second at the very top of the shroud and then use the sway of the ship to throw himself into open air and towards the mizzenmast.

It would have taken an extra minute, tops, to climb down to the deck them climb back up, Marco thinks furiously, cawing loudly and flipping his wings a bit. Seriously, it’s not even hard; that’s what the ratlines are _for_.

But the kid is not gonna make it, he can tell, and he’s already pushing off as he looks around, but everyone’s looking at him, not the kid—fair enough, he’s the one acting weird and making alarm calls, but it also means that he’s the only one who sees the boy’s face go tight as he crests the jump and it’s not far enough.

Fine. Fine, just this once.

He stoops, aiming carefully and reaching out with talons meant for maiming, meant for rending and tearing and fire. There’s yells across the deck now as people notice what’s happening, and the kid sees the claws coming and screams.

Marco can catch people without hurting them. He’s done it before, he’s practiced, and he knows the angle and the way to aim past the arm and how to glide with momentum to avoid whiplash or deceleration injury.

He also knows it can onl works if the people he catches don’t fight him, and this kid is going to, he can just tell.

So he drops his angle, pulls his wings in tighter, and aims below the kid instead, coming in far too fast.

Something touches his back and he snaps his wings open, slowing his own momentum and giving the kid a place to grab—only the kid doesn’t.

He just tumbles off and keeps going.

 _–one more try,_ Marco thinks. Third time’s a charm, so one more try and then he’s gonna let the kid go splat.

So he rolls, letting his left wing catch on something and following it around until he’s tumbling with the brat, and finally, _finally_ now the kid grabs him around the neck and hangs on.

He opens his wings again and starts to glide out, but he’s been tumbling, not paying attention, and before they go more than a few inches he slams into the deck.

He lands on his side, sliding a bit, but the kid’s on his far side and Marco’s body ought to have cushioned the blow for him. Which is good, it’s fine; Marco will heal in seconds what a human won’t, but also—

“Holy shit,” someone says above him, and he looks up at Roger. “Marco, what are you doing?”

He squawks pitifully because he can’t move with his delicate hollow bones all cracked and he can’t breathe with the grip the kid has around his neck and he can’t shift until he heals and he can’t heal until he’s not gonna burn the idiot grabbing him.

“C’mere, Shanks,” Roger says, grabbing the boy under his elbow and dragging him up. “Let the man go.”

“He’s not a man! He’s a bird!” apparently-Shanks says, and Roger laughs. Still, it’s enough room, so Marco lights himself up and keeps his beak closed as his ribs knit back together.

“He’s both,” Roger says. “You hurt, kid?”

“Nope! That was fun!”

It’s close enough to healed that Marco can start the shift, and when his fire fades, it’s his human shape that’s sitting there, holding one hand to his side and glaring up at them. “That was _not_ fun.”

Roger just laughs some more, but Rouge steps into his view and leans down a hand towards him. “You okay, Marco? That looked like a nasty tumble.”

“I’m fine, yoi,” Marco says, gratefully taking the hand. His ribs twinge and he hides a grimace because he’ll be fine _soon_ , and that’s the same thing, right?

“Thank you for catching him,” she says, and he nods and looks down.

Which was a mistake, because the kid barrels into his side—of course it’s the mostly healed side—and says, “Hey, can you turn into a bird again?”

His hair is red, Marco notices for the first time. Color is weird to his bird eyes, but it turns out that Shanks’ hair is red, a deep crimson, like sunset, like blood, like the corona of a fire. “Not right now,” he says. “I’ve got to talk to Captain Roger. Adult business.”

“Eh? But you’re not an adult!”

Which is true, but only barely. Still. “More adult than you, brat!”

“Ha, that’s true! You’re older than me. Hey, you should join the crew!”

That’s such a non-sequitur that Marco blinks, then looks up at Roger, who is grinning madly, and Rouge, who is hiding a smile behind a hand. “What?”

“Every crew needs a bird, right? And you’re the prettiest bird so you should join the strongest crew! And that’s ours!”

“What.”

“Eh? I thought I was pretty clear—”

“I. Am not a ‘pretty bird’, or a parrot, or, or a _mascot_ , or—”

“Ah,” Roger says, slipping an arm around Rouge’s waist as they watch the two square off. “It’s good to see them getting along, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Rouge says, smiling. “Marco’s so serious; maybe Shanks will be good for him. I hope they’ll be great friends.”


	11. broke all the rules (so you'd think he was cool)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for suddenly-deaged!Ace. Title from _Youth of the Nation_ by P.O.D

“Lemme go!” the kid that used to be Ace shrieks, flailing and kicking. “I’ma kill every last one of you bastards! Lemme _go!”_

Thatch grits his teeth. “I can’t hold him anymore,” he says to Marco. “Here, catch.”

Marco has to take a few steps to catch the child that Thatch throws through the air at him, but he manages, wrapping both hands around the kid and ignoring the teeth that sink into his flesh. “Thanks, yoi,” he says. “What do I do with it?”

“I’m not an it!” Ace hollers. “Lemme–lemme _go_!”

“If I do, will you stay here?” Marco asks, and tiny Ace goes still in his hands.

“Stay here?” he asks incredulously. “Why should I stay here with the idiots who kidnapped me?”

“We didn’t kidnap you, kid,” Thatch says, nursing his bruised side. “You just showed up here.”

“Right, sure,” Ace says, but he’s not fighting, so Marco will take what he can get. “How much do you even think you can get for me?”

“From who?” Thatch asks.

“Oh,” Ace says, and his mouth hangs open a sec. “You–wait, so you kidnapped me for nothing?!”

“We didn’t kidnap you, yoi,” Marco says, and takes the chance of lowering Ace to the ground, though he keeps his grip on Ace’s shoulders. “You joined our crew.”

“I would _never_ join a crew,” Ace spits, tugging against Marco’s hold. “Never. I’m gonna be the strongest pirate and that means I’m gonna have my own crew!”

“Sure, kid,” Thatch says, and then yells, “Oi! Izo!”

“You’re gonna regret this,” Ace informs them calmly, then headbutts Marco in the stomach and takes off for the railing.

Marco folds over around an _oof_ and Izo, who’s on the way over, makes a valiant attempt to stomp him, but Ace dodges to the side with an odd little spin move and blows past him like he’s not even there.

The kid jumps, and he gets pretty impressive air for someone so tiny. It’s enough to let him touch down on top of the railing and make a surprisingly neat dive for the sea below.

Thatch is already lunging, but he knows he’s gonna be too late. Can Ace swim? He seems to think he can, but does he still have his fruit, or–

Jozu catches his foot just before he’s out of reach, and Ace makes a horrid loud screech that goes straight to Thatch’s brain, promising a headache later. “Lemme go, lemme go!” he’s yelling again, but Jozu turns that entire hand diamond and doesn’t let go.

“Chill out, Ace,” Jozu says, shaking him just a bit.

Thatch breathes again, taking a second to calm himself down. Then he steps back, grabs Jack who’s been watching from the sidelines, and says, “Get Pops up here. Now.”

“Sent Hiroko down already,” Jack says. “Is–is the commander gonna be okay?”

“Course he is,” Thatch says breezily. “It’s Ace. You think a little thing like this is gonna keep him down?”

Jack’s face does this complete twitch thing that is probably him smiling and trying to hide it. “Nothing can keep the commander down.”

“Exactly,” Thatch says, and heads over to see if his brothers are going to make a liar out of him.

He’s watching Jozu wave his arm gently to let Ace sway back and forth from where he’s attached his teeth to Jozu’s diamond arm when Pops comes rumbling up from belowdecks. He turns to catch Pops’ eye and waves him over.

Pops approaches slowly, as unthreateningly as possible, and stops beside the little group. Ace lets go of Jozu, who sets him down in front of their captain.

“Who are you?” Tiny Ace says, looking up–and up and up–to Pops.

Pops laughs, a big booming _guarara_ that has Ace twitching, and Thatch stops himself from reaching out for those small shoulders. “I’m Edward Newgate. This is my ship, and these are my children! And what’s your name, young man?”

“Ace,” Ace says, and looks around. “All of these guys are your kids?”

“Indeed,” Pops says. “They all came from different walks of life, but we made our own family, and it’s the strongest family on the seas.” His voice gentles at the expression on Ace’s face, and he says, “You are one of my sons, too–or you were.”

“I,” Ace says, sharp and loud and nearly shaking, “am _no one’s son_. I have never had a father and I never will.”

And there’s that anger, the one they haven’t seen in a long time–the hot burn of a rage that fueled a hundred days of murder.

Pops looks down at him. “I think,” he says ever so gently, “that he would have been heartbroken to hear you say that.”

And Ace flinches, violently and with his whole body. He goes tense for a very long moment, and his eyes are nearly blank. “You know,” he says, and he looks up and around, then he lets out a sharp bark of sound that’s too jagged to be laughter. “I can’t–I can’t win, not against all of you, but if you’re gonna kill me, I’m sure as hell gonna take some of you with me.”

“ _Kill_ –” Marco starts, and Thatch agrees, trying to swallow down his own cold lump of–of something.

This isn’t an idle threat, he knows, and it’s not little kid anger. That’s an expression he knows too well–someone used to calculating odds of survival, coming up negative. The child that Ace was seriously believes that they’re going to kill him and he’s ready to fight to death anyway.

“Oh,” someone murmurs behind him and he glances to the side to see Izo taking a step forward. “Oh, Ace, no.”

Ace spins, hands up by his face in a stance Thatch could swear he’s seen before. Then Ace keeps moving, keeps twitching and twisting, like there’s nowhere safe to look–

–or nowhere safe to put his back. Because they’ve got him surrounded, haven’t they, and he thinks they’re a _threat_ –

No kid should be that prepared to die that young. Thatch knows a little something about expecting to die young, but this is–to be so sure that the world hates you, so sure that you have no allies, nowhere to turn, and no hope…

It’s sad, is what it is, and the fact that it’s Ace makes this so much worse. It also explains so much, like the murder and the hatred and the way he never talks about anything personal, not ever.

“You’re safe here,” Pops says, and Ace whips back around to face him. “No one here wishes you any harm. You were a Whitebeard once, so you’re always welcome here.”

“That–you can’t just–”

“You are safe here, Ace, for as long as you need.”

Ace is trembling now, just a bit, but Thatch can see it. He stares at his little brother and wills him to believe it, but that kind of disbelief isn’t easily overturned. He knows that.

“But it’s not–it’s not me that you want, is it?” Ace asks. “You want _your_ Ace, wherever he went.”

Well, yes, but also no. Pops, however, laughs. “A Whitebeard pirate is a Whitebeard for life. I grant you, this is the first time it’s ever applied retroactively, but we want you here, no matter your age.”

“You can’t,” Ace says, but his hands are dropping. “You can’t–you can’t _know_ and still want–”

“We do,” Pops says, and Ace shakes harder.

“But what if–” he says, and has to stop a second. “What if your Ace never comes back?”

This, at least Thatch knows. He steps forward and makes sure Ace sees him coming. “Well then,” he says, keeping it light. “I’ve always wanted a littlest brother. Your age doesn’t matter to us.”

“Well,” Ace says, and his knees give out. He sits down hard. “You can’t just go around handing out unconditional acceptance,” he says, looking up at Thatch. “You know that, right?”

“Nope,” Thatch says, popping the p and squatting down to get on Ace’s level. “We’re pirates, kid. We can do whatever we want.”

“You’re crazy,” Ace breathes, staring at him with wide eyes. “You’re all bugfuck nuts.”

It’s Thatch’s turn to laugh. He reaches out a hand to Ace and says, “Then you’ll fit right in, won’t you?”

“I–” Ace starts, but Marco’s coming to stand behind him, and Pops is laughing, and the crew is breaking up to give them some space. Then Ace swallows and does the bravest thing Thatch has ever seen him do; he slaps his hand down on Thatch’s and lets himself be pulled up.

There’s something fragile in his face and painful in his eyes, and Thatch’s heart rises to see that tentative hope. “Maybe,” Ace says, looking around. “Maybe I can.”


	12. like fire in the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for Marco meeting the new mera-mera user. Title from the song of the same name by Manz Zelmerlow

He hears the rumors somewhere in the New World. There’s a competition, they say, with the Mera Mera up for a prize.

He doesn’t go. He can’t.

There’s something about fire, these days, that dances like pain and tastes like failure. At least his wings are blue, but the orange and yellow and red haunts the corner of his eyes constantly, reminding him of what he’s lost.

He doesn’t like fire much anymore.

And then someone passes along a whisper of a story of a rumor, of a new fire user. He won it, fair and square, but it makes Marco’s blood rise all the same. This stranger may have earned it, but it isn’t his.

Still, it’s one rumor out of many, and easy to ignore, especially when he’s got so much to do all the time, trying to keep his family together. He’d been running the day-to-day stuff already, but with Pops…without Pops, it’s harder to keep things from falling apart.

And then one day Haruta brings someone across the deck to meet him. He’s swamped, trying to shift forces around to maintain their protection on their islands, they’re running low on water, and Marco hasn’t sleep in a day and a half, and here’s some guy just showing up to cause more trouble.

Marco tries not to be curt, he does, but the guy sticks out his hand and says, “Hello, Marco,” and Marco takes it and it’s warm.

It’s warm in a way he knows too well, and his tightens his grip instead of letting go. “Tell me,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “Did you want the Mera Mera Fruit for the power or the fame?”

The guy looks up and meets his eyes steadily, not flinching from the pressure Marco’s putting on his hand. “Neither,” he says. “I wanted it to keep my brother’s memory alive.”

Marco lets go suddenly. “Brother?” he asks, blinking a bit, and he barely notices Haruta slipping away to leave them alone.

“Brother,” the guy says, and sets one hand aflame in the easy casual twist that Marco’s seen a million times before. They both stare at it as it dances on his fingers.

Marco reaches out but hesitates in the heat aura surrounding the flame. “Did it work?” Marco asks.

Ace’s brother nods. “It feels like him,” he says, and the fire jumps a little higher.

Marco dips his fingers in to rest on the gloved palm, and oh. Oh. It really does.


	13. the dead, the dying, the dumb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for a Bleach/OP crossover

“I hate hollows, I _hate hollows_ ,” Sabo chants to himself as he scrabbles around a corner, kicking up dust everywhere.

He doesn’t, though, not really; they’re a deadly inconvenience, true, and monsters besides, and he dislikes them immensely, sure, but somewhere in the back of his head he knows the bitter, overwhelming taste of hatred and this isn’t that.

They’re still mindless, hungry monsters, though, and also coming straight for him.

He says some nasty words and takes off again. He’s too new, too reliant on hand-to-hand instead of sword, to take on this pack all at once, especially not with his arm bleeding like this. But that’s okay, he doesn’t have to win, he just has to buy enough time for the rest of his patrol to get back with help—

“Heads up!” a cheerful voice calls and Sabo’s head snaps up and around. There’s someone in the air behind the leftmost hollow, coming in from a high jump holding something that shimmers with heat.

He needs to duck, he knows that, but he can’t sacrifice any forward momentum, so he throws his shoulders back and slides on the outside edges of his feet just as the pillar of fire goes swelling over his head.

Something screams behind him, loud and soul-cringing. That means fire hurts them, Sabo thinks, planting his palms to use as breaks, ignoring the pain and scrabbling around to launch himself back the way he came.

He couldn’t win against this many hollows on his own, but if he’s not on his own—

“Hup,” the new guy says, landing neatly on the closest hollow’s head. “Hey, you know how to kill these things?”

“Yeah,” Sabo says, and he jumps, using the hollow arm reaching for him as a stepping stone, and gets his hand across its mask. Fingers here, pressure there— _crack_.

The hollow shrieks and falls to its knees, so Sabo pushes off its shoulders to continue his upward momentum—why are hollows so _tall—_ and aims for the next one.

“Masks, got it,” the guy says, and the hollow Sabo’s aiming at steps to the side, and he has a half-second to quickly recalculate landing spots until, “Need a hand?”

Sabo glances up but his arm’s already moving before he sees the guy leaning out towards him, one hand holding onto a hollow’s head spike and the other outstretched just enough.

Sabo grabs it and the guy swings and pulls, just hard enough that Sabo can plant his feet firmly on the hollow’s back and push off to correct his trajectory just as the hollow roars and shakes its head like a dog. The guy lets go, jumping vertically and yelling, “hey, ugly!”

The hollow looks up into a faceful of fire, and Sabo bares his teeth as he finally gets a hand on his own target.

“Why aren’t you using that sword?” the guy asks, and Sabo rides his hollow down, jumping at just the last second to avoid the impact.

“For these small fry?” Sabo says, glancing around. There’s two left and he probably should use his sword, but—

“You forgot, huh?” the guy says, then laughs. Sabo whips his head around to stare at the stranger because no one here can tell when he’s lying, or would call him on it, much less know _why_ —

Broad grin, he sees, and freckles, and an obnoxious orange cowboy hat that the idiot’s tipping in his direction. “Ace,” he says. “I’m new around here.”

“Sabo,” Sabo tells him, eyes stuck on his left arm, where there’s a tattoo. He can’t breathe for a second, but it’s probably just the exertion.

“Wanna split these guys?” Ace asks, jerking a thumb towards the two approaching hollows he casually has his back to, the absolute _moron_.

Sabo’s already running. “Gimme a boost?”

“Gotcha,” Ace says, bracing and cupping his hands, and he doesn’t even flinch when Sabo puts his entire weight on those open palms, simply flings him up with the exact amount of force Sabo wanted, and he even makes sure to follow through all the way over his head to help Sabo’s forward momentum.

It’s a perfect toss and Sabo collides with a hollow, getting both hands on the mask as the hollow howls and steps back, and he doesn’t waste a second shattering it in two places.

The _fwump_ of superheated air to his left tells him the other one’s down too, and he steps off the dissolving corpse, tugging at his lapels and making sure his sleeve cuffs are sitting right. “Thanks for the assist,” he says, and Ace meets him in the middle of the road, still grinning.

“Sure,” Ace says. “What even were those things?”

“You really are new here, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ace says. “Woke up with a faceful of dirt and no memories a few hours ago. Where is here, anyway?”

“May I be there first to welcome you,” Sabo says, spreading his arms wide and turning on a heel because being dramatic is more than a calling, it’s an imperative, “to the afterlife. Congrats, you’re dead.”

“I’m dead?” Ace asks, looking down at his hands. “Huh, that’s…. So I’m a ghost? Wait, are you a ghost?”

“Ha, no. We’re…souls, I think? This is where souls go. I’m a shinigami, which is a bit different, like…like a soul guard? Well, psychopomps, I should say.”

“No you shouldn’t say,” Ace says, “Because I dunno what that word means.”

“Ferriers of the dead, guardians of the souls, those who guide the dead onwards…”

“Oh,” Ace says, tapping a fist into his empty palm. “Like ravens! Or owls!”

“…sure,” Sabo says because no, only in certain mythologies, but Ace won’t care about the semantics.

“Cool,” Ace says, falling into step beside him. “So you’re the good guys.”

Well. There’s the thing, isn’t it? Sabo fixes his face and shrugs. “Yeah, we’re the good guys.”

Ace shoots him a sidelong glance. “Not that simple, then?”

And there he goes again, reading between Sabo’s lines. How can this stranger _tell?_ “That’s what they tell us.” And it is, it’s what’s on all the propaganda, what they teach in the academy, and it may even be true.

But there’s a lot of power centered on a very few higher-ups, and the hollows make such a convenient bogeyman to keep them in line. Maybe the shinigami are everything they say they are, sure.

But.

“Hey,” Ace says, “I meant to ask. Since I saved your butt and all—”

“You _what—_ ”

“—I thought I’d let you buy me lunch. Cause I ain’t found a place that sells food yet and I’m _hungry_.”

“You’re hungry?” Sabo repeats. That’s…not unexpected, given the way Ace fought and whatever that fire was. Still, there’s not going to be any kind of restaurant in the Outer Rukongai. “I do know a place,” he says cautiously. “Depending.”

Ace stretches his arms up and seems very unconcerned when he asks, “Depending on what?”

“On whether you wanna be a shinigami or a civilian.”

Ace hums, sticking his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “What do I get if I sign up for this psychotic thing?”

Sabo bites back on the instinctual correction and catches Ace’s small grin. Oh, so it’s like that, is it? “Food, resources, training, something to do with your eternity.” But, Sabo thinks, that’s not what’s going to hook Ace, so he glances over, puts on his slyest smile, and adds, “An _adventure_.”

And Ace turns to him, catches his eyes, and holds his gaze. It goes on past societal boundaries and there’s something deep there, something surprisingly intimate for someone he’s only known a few minutes, but then Ace turns away and the moment is lost. “Sure,” he says, then grins. “I do hate being bored.”


	14. that's not a souvenier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for island deity!Marco

“Whoa,” Thatch says, sweating. “This place is so hot. I thought it was a spring island!”

“I like it,” Ace says, and Thatch makes a disgusted face. “What?!”

“You would,” Thatch says, and he goes to punch Ace’s shoulder and then aborts at the last  minute. “Of course you’d like it. Meanwhile, I’m _melting.”  
_

“No you’re not,” Ace points out like the dork that he is. “The melting point for humans is–” 

“–something I never wanted to know,” Thatch finishes for him. “Can’t you just, I dunno, suck up the heat and keep it away from me, or something?” _  
_

Ace huffs and keeps walking. “It doesn’t work like that,” he says. “Do you wanna find this thing or not?” 

“I do, I do! I just don’t wanna die in the process!”

“Look, this was _your_ idea–”

“You said it would be easy–”

“–freaking _Spring Island_ –”

“–based on a rumor of a myth–”

“–didn’t even want to come anyway–”

“–just because you said, _you said_ –”

“Can you _not_ , yoi?”

Both stop, silent, Thatch still trying to shove Ace’s face away and Ace still halfway towards a headlock. “Uh,” Ace says, and they both stare at the guy in front of them.

“I try to keep everything peaceful,” the guys says, pacing the trail in front of them. “Peaceful and nice and, and quiet. And then you show up and never stop _talking_ , yoi. What is your problem with silence?!”

“Silence killed my family,” Thatch says on autopilot, and then looks stricken.

“You’re spending too much time with Haruta, aren’t you?” Ace asks, but he drops his hands and steps back. “Uh, hi. Who are you again?”

“I’m unimportant,” the really important guy says, waving the question off. “The question is, who are you two, and what do you want, yoi? If I give it to you, will you _go away_?” 

“I’m Ace!” Ace says, because at very least he knows introductions. “Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates. And this idiot–”

“Oi!”

“–is Thatch, Fourth Division Commander. We’re sorry to, uh, be loud, but Thatch heard there was a rumor about an unbreakable weapon around here, and he keeps going through swords so fast that the quartermaster refuses to buy him new ones–”

“–and that’s more than enough, ha ha,” Thatch says, clapping both hands over Ace’s mouth. “We’re sorry to bother you!” 

Ace licks the hands, ignores Thatch’s yelp, and then continues cheerfully, “–treats them like chef’s knives and get surprised when they break–”

Thatch steps on Ace’s foot. “How about we don’t tell the magically appearing stranger all about how unarmed we are?” he hisses.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ace says dismissively. “I’m better than any stupid sword anyway. So is it nearby?”

The stranger blinks at them. “You’re…looking for an unbreakable weapon, yoi?”

“No,” Thatch stresses. “I just want a sword! A good sword!”

“And you thought a volcano would be a better place than a blacksmith to find one?”

“This is a _volcano_?” Thatch screeches, jumping. “What?!”

Blondie stares at them some more. “You didn’t know?”

“Of course we didn’t!” Thatch says, but Ace is nodding thoughtfully.

“Explains why I like it so much,” he says. “Is that it?” He gestures up the path to the small peak they were heading towards. “Oh! Is that why there’s a temple with the sword thing supposedly in it? To appease the volcano?”

“Yes, but it’s not a sword,” the stranger says. He’s got a pretty purple shirt and frankly ridiculous hair, really, and he’s looking at them sideways now.

Ace immediately turns to shove a finger in Thatch’s face. “I told you it was a long shot! Weapon doesn’t always mean sword!”

“It was worth a try!”

“–and no, that’s not the volcano, yoi.”

“It isn’t?”

The stranger gestures around them. “Didn’t you think the island was vaguely circular?”

They both stare with open mouths. Finally Thatch says weakly, “No wonder it’s hot.”

“Are you saying,” Ace asks with exquisite care, “that this entire island is the caldera of a volcano?”

“Are you saying you _didn’t know_? Why do you think no one lives here and nothing grows here, yoi?”

“Okay, you know what,” Thatch says, “I’m out. We’re done. I’m not taking another step inside a volcano for a sword that never even existed.”

Ace nods. He likes fire as well as the next fire logia, but lava–that’s a different story altogether. He turns, a step behind Thatch, and then his manners kick back in. “Thank you,” he says to the guy, and then he and Thatch head back to their boat.

“Hey!” he calls after them, and Ace stops to look back. “Don’t you care about the weapon, yoi?”

“Not if it’s not a sword!” Thatch yells back. “And unless it farts rainbows, it’s not worth lava death!”

The guy doesn’t seem to understand, but that’s a valid point. “Hey,” Ace says. “If you want a ride off this death trap, you’re welcome to come along. We’ve got plenty of room.”

The stranger blinks, but he walks with them to the shore, not even interrupting them as they bicker. When they hit a pause, though, he says, “You really don’t care about a weapon that’s said to be unbreakable and immortal? A weapon of fire and wind that rains destruction everywhere and can never die?”

“If it can’t help me protect or feed my family, I’m not interested,” Thatch says flatly. 

“I can already rain fire anywhere I like,” Ace says, pulling a little flame out to demonstrate. “So no, I don’t think we do.”

“Oh,” the guy says. Then he pauses and sticks out a hand. “I’m Marco,” he says.

Thatch grabs his hand and pumps it wildly. “Nice ta meetcha, Marco!” he says, and Ace casts them off. “We’ll take you back to the _Moby Dick_ , our main ship, and from there you can get wherever you’re going; how’s that sound?”

“That depends,” Marco says. “How fast can this little boat go?”

“Pretty fast, and I can make it go faster,” Ace promises. “We in a hurry?”

Marco nods judiciously. “I think we’re about to be,” he says. “You did take the thing that seals the volcano, after all.”

Ace swears and sticks his hand into the engine port, piling the fire on, and the boat jumps forward and planes out. “We didn’t take anything! Especially not some magic weapon!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Marco says, and turns his face into the wind.


	15. i'm askin for a fight tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for Marco and/or Sabo being protective of Ace

“Calm down, Sabo,” Marco says for the second time.

“I am calm,” Sabo says, and to give him credit, his voice is even. He’s turning the cup in front of him, though, and his usual smile is absent. He’s still, too, and it’s the kind of focused, tense stillness that Marco knows too well.

He’s spoiling for a fight, is what he’s doing. Maybe there’s something bothering him, or maybe he just had a bad day; probably he’s got himself all tangled up in his head again, but he won’t thank Marco for asking. 

Marco’d just wanted to make the most of this chance encounter; dinner and chatting, and maybe catching up later, but with Sabo in this kind of mood it’s looking more like violence is the order of the night.

“What’s Luffy been up to?” he asks, because that’s a topic that always works.

“Dunno,” Sabo says, which is a blatant and dirty lie. Still, if even Luffy isn’t getting his attention, then it’s really bad. Maybe he oughtta cut his losses and get them out of here, and get Sabo to snap at him later. Maybe they can avoid any trouble tonight, at least in public.

Sabo takes a sullen sip of his drink and they both hear the snippit of conversation drift over from the guys beside them at the bar. “–not like Roger,” the ugly one is saying, and Sabo shuts up and listens.

Marco sighs and downs his drink. So much for avoiding trouble.

“’least he’s dead,” his friend says, and only just remembers not to spit. “We’re well rid of that lot.”

“You don’t think he had a kid?” Sabo asks, leaning over Marco to jump into their conversation. 

Marco leans back on his stool, letting Sabo lie across the bar and prop up his chin on one had and smile like danger.

The ugly one looks around and Marco can tell the exact moment he clocks this fancy-dressed young kid who’s probably good for a drink or two. “Nah,” he says, turning a bit to face them. “If he did, the Marines’d’ve killed it by now.”

“So,” Sabo says, and Marco sighs. “So you think the sins of the father would outweigh the achievements of the son?”

Ugly can probably tell he’s miscalculated a bit somewhere because his eyes dart to his friend. “I just think,” he says cautiously, “that that kinda blood is too dangerous to have running free, yanno? Don’t you?”

“That kinda blood,” Sabo repeats. “What, the blood of a hero? Of a self-made success? The blood of a pirate, maybe?”

Ugly’s friend, who’s bigger around than he is tall, sneers at them and says, “The blood of a criminal, obviously. He was a thief, an’ a scoundrel, he was. And a cheatin’, stealin’ mean sonuvagun, too ain’t no two ways about it.”

“Criminal,” Sabo says, slow, like he’s savoring the word. Like it’s exactly the excuse he’s been waiting for.

Marco slides back off the stool to clear his way and finds his hands are in fists, too. Huh. Maybe Sabo’s been spoiling for a fight all night, but Marco finds he’s not against this one at all.


	16. what he knows you ain't had time to learn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for Ace dealing with Sabo being possesive. Title is, yeah, from _These Boots Are Made for Walking_ by Nancy Sinatra

“I don’t like them,” Sabo says.

“You don’t need to,” Ace says, rolling his eyes. “I’m the one who needs to like them, and I do, Sabo.”

Sabo sets his jaw. “I don’t _like_ them,” he repeats.

“Okay,” Ace says patiently, because sometimes patience is the only way to get anywhere with Sabo. “Why don’t you like them?”

Sabo says nothing, and Ace sighs and starts counting off points. “I spent over a hundred days trying to kill Pops and he’s not dead. He knows my name, my _full_ name, and all he did was laugh. Everyone on the crew is really nice and welcoming. Thatch makes sure I get enough to eat. Haruta recommends good books to me. James is teaching me how to weave a hammock. Marco’s teaching me how to manage supplies and handle people. Pops said he’s grooming me for a role as a Divison Commander. They’re a _family_ , Sabo, and the biggest on the seas.” And then he swallows his pride because making sure Sabo gets this is more important. “If they can’t protect me, no one can.”

Sabo’s eyes narrow and he visibly bites back on something.

“Look,” Ace says, standing up and pacing. “You don’t like them, I get it. But you’re not here, Sabo. You come to visit but your life is out there! Like it should be!”

“But–!” Sabo says, then stops.

“Why don’t you like them, really?” Ace asks. “It’s not them, it’s not their reputation; I’m the one putting them in danger, honestly, so it’s not that.”

“I don’t like them,” Sabo says, lacing his fingers together. He pauses a moment, then adds, “It’s nothing personal–”

“Sure feels personal.”

“–I wouldn’t like anyone you sailed with.” 

“What.” Ace stops and turns to stare at him. “That’s–what? That’s unfair.”

Sabo shrugs. “Never said it was fair. Just said I didn’t like it.”

Ace steps closer, close enough to rest his hands on Sabo’s shoulders, and Sabo looks up at him. “Sabo,” he says quietly. “You’re my brother, and you’ll always be one of the most important people in my life. But I’m happy here, you know? I like it here, with them. I feel like I can belong.”

Sabo gazes back steadily. “I know,” he says. “I’ll never ask you to leave, without good reason. You know I’m happy to see you happy. You know that, right? I never thought you’d get this far, honestly.”

Ace drops his hands and snorts. “Your faith in me is overwhelming–”

“No, _listen_. I know I’m not around,” and he makes a face that gets Ace to shut up and pay attention, “but the fact that you trust these people–it’s not nothing, and I will always be grateful to them for it.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Ace asks, throwing out his arms. “If it’s not the people and it’s not the crew, why don’t you like them?”

Sabo smiles like he’s hurting when he says, “It doesn’t matter,” and yeah, no, that’s not gonna fly. 

“It obviously does matter, if you’re gonna be like this about it!”

Sabo gets up as well, turning and taking a step away. ““It’s fine, Ace–”

Ace grabs his wrist and jerks him back. “What’s your problem?” he bites out, and Sabo turns, yanking free.

“That’s the thing,” Sabo says, calm and measured, but his breathing is fast. “It’s _my_ problem, and it shouldn’t affect you–”

“If it’s affecting you, it affects me, Sabo, you know that–”

“I’m telling you, it’s not important–

“It obviously _is_ –”

“It’s _you,_ okay? It’s you!”

Ace takes a step back. He blinks, closes his mouth, and then opens it again. He tries to say _what_ but he doesn’t need to; Sabo starts pacing with his ranting.

“It’s you, Ace. It’s always been you. You’re out here, following your dream and finding a family that makes you happy, and, and trusting people! And _I’m not here_ , Ace. I’m off fighting, and it’s important–of course it’s important, but you have a life now, and I can’t be a part of it! And _they_ can!” He’s gesticulating wildly, but here he stops and turns on Ace. “They get to protect you, and they get to see you every day and share their lives with you and I’m off in a different Blue every week! 

“The _problem_ ,” Sabo enunciates, “is not with them. It’s not with you. I just–” he spreads his hands. “I miss you, you know? And I know you can’t replace me, I _know_ that, but–” 

And Ace hears what he doesn’t say, because Sabo’s silences have always spoken louder than his words. “I’m–” Ace says, and has to stop to swallow. “I’m not trying to. To replace you, I mean.”

“I know,” Sabo says, and sits back down, but his back bends and his head hangs a bit more than earlier. “I know, Ace, and I–it’s just.” He stops to breathe, and then finally looks up and meets Ace’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says.

And if he’s _saying_ it, then he really, truly is. “Hey,” Ace says, and steps forward to sink down on the ground in front of him. “Hey, you know it’s not like that.”

“I know,” Sabo agrees. “I know that here,” he says, touching his head, “but–”

Ace catches his hand before he can finish. “You’re more important to me than my own life, Sabo. You know that, right?”

Sabo lets out a sound that would be a laugh if it were any less ragged. “Of course I know, Ace. That’s what worries me.”

Ace sits back on his heels. He’s at a loss for words, and all he can think to say is, “How can I fix this?”

Sabo closes his eyes for a moment, just one, but it’s enough that when he drapes his arms over Ace’s shoulders, Ace leans in for a hug. A pointy chin digs into the top of his head and the gloved hands squeeze a little too hard, but he doesn’t mention it or draw back. “Don’t worry about it,” Sabo says, like Ace will ever not worry about him. Sabo must realize this too, because he huffs and follows up with, “Just–remember me, Ace. Don’t ever replace me, okay?”

“I couldn’t,” Ace says, swears. “I could never replace you, Sabo. You’re my _brother_.”

Sabo holds him tight for another moment, then lets him go. “So’s Luffy,” he says, and if his eyes are shiny, his voice is even.

“Luffy doesn’t need me anymore,” Ace says. “You do.”

And Sabo obviously decides that’s enough of that; his head tilts to just the angle that says _trouble,_ and he says, “Oh, I do, do I?”, reaching out to flick Ace’s forehead.

Ace squawks and falls over backwards. “Hey!” he says, scrambling up to his feet. “Hey, no fair! I thought we were _talking_!”

“ _You_ were talking,” Sabo says, getting up again. He at least has the decency to offer Ace a hand up. 

Ace takes it and very barely resists the urge to surge up with a reaping sweep and dump Sabo on the ground too. Instead he gets up and checks his hat is still in place. “That was uncalled for,” he says with all the dignity he can muster.

“Your face is uncalled for,” Sabo says back, and then laughs and ducks away from Ace’s telegraphed punch, scrambling out the door.

“Get back here!” Ace yells, taking off after Sabo, who laughs more and slides around the corner. He almost yells _you’re the worst_ out of habit, but bites it back today. Instead he just howls, “ _Sabo!”  
_

Sabo hits the main deck and grabs a passing crewman. “Hide me!” he says, turning the guy around to face Ace.

“Uh,” the crewman Allen says. Ace ignores him and jumps, aiming to come down right behind him. Sabo ditches Allen and takes off again, dodging through the crew and weaving around people.

“Sabo!” he yells, pushing past Hireki and Jaque. “Guys! Catch him!”

“Nu-huh,” someone mutters as he passes, and someone else shouts out, “Not getting in the middle of that!”

“Thanks, guys!” Sabo shouts, then skids to a stop behind Marco. “Hey, hide me!”

Marco steps to the side, but Sabo follows, and Ace doesn’t quite stop in time. The three of them go crashing down, and Marco rolls out of the way just as Ace catches hold of Sabo.

“Traitor!” Sabo yells just before Ace rubs his face into the deck. 

Marco stands up and straightens his clothes. “I’m loyal to my own, yoi,” he says, and walks off.

Sabo goes still under him, and Ace rolls off and sits down to the side. “You okay?” he says, because usually Sabo’s bitten him by now.

Sabo sits up too, collar askew and one glove half off. He doesn’t fix it, though; instead he stares after Marco. “Loyal to his own, huh?” he says, and then absently tugs his glove back on. 

Ace looks between Marco’s back and Sabo. “Yeah,” he says. “The crew’s good about that.”

Sabo hums, then gets up with a graceful little hopping maneuver. “Are they all like that?” he asks, and Ace nods. Sabo makes a little “huh” noise, then looks over at Ace, still sitting, and tugs his collar straight. “You gonna lay there all day?”

Ace sticks out his tongue but gets up, too. He follows Sabo over to the railing where his tiny one-man schooner is tied up. “Leaving already?”

Sabo sighs, then turns to him. “You know I don’t want to,” he says.

Ace nods and says, “You know you’re irreplaceable, right?”

Sabo blinks at him, then looks away. “You know,” he says, eyes tracking over the number of people on deck watching him suspiciously, “if it’s them….”

He trails off, and Ace prompts him with, “Then what?”

“Never mind,” Sabo says, then hops the rail. “Hey, I’ll see you next time, okay?”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Ace says, leaning his forearms on the railing. 

Sabo slides down the rope and hits the deck, then looks back up. He doesn’t say anything, but what he means is clear in the way his mouth is tight and his brows are drawn in.

“I _meant_ come back soon!” Ace yells, and throws the rope at his face. “C’mon, Sabo, it’s a turn of phrase! Not everything is about _you!”_

The coil of rope slaps Sabo across the face and he flails as he falls over. “Ace!” he yells, and Ace just points and laughs because he deserves it, he really does.

“If you don’t like it,” Ace says, once he’s done laughing, “come back and get even.”

“Oh, I will,” Sabo says, pointing up at him. “I’ll be coming back just to kick your ass all the way across this deck.”

“You’re welcome to try anytime,” Ace says, grinning at him. “Hey, bring a pipe! It’ll be fun!”

“Just like old times,” Sabo agrees, and pushes away from the _Moby Dick_. “I’ll bring a couple when I come back.” He’s almost too far away to hear, and he tugs at the sails, gets the schooner pointed in the right direction, and waves once over his shoulder.

And then he’s gone, sailing away into the distance. Ace stands there and watches until the horizon is empty again. It’s hard, being apart like this, but maybe next time they meet up, they can go visit Luffy. He gets the feeling that some brotherly bonding time would do them all a world of good.

Besides, Luffy may not need him like Sabo does, but he still needs looking after sometimes, and Sabo could do with the reminder that his world revolves around more than just Ace.


	17. gator soup is good for the soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for MarcoAce, catching a cold. This is about as shippy as I can manage

“That’s the sixth time today, yoi,” Marco says, leaning against the rail and staring out at the horizon. “You done yet?”

Ace’s hand flops around and he rolls over enough to wheeze out more seawater. Once he’s done coughing, he chokes out, “One more.”

“Nope, no more,” Marco sighs, but he doesn’t make any move to actually stop Ace. He doesn’t need to. Ace can’t even keep himself up on hands and knees right now. “You’re going to make yourself sick, yoi.”

Ace hacks up some more water and spits it over the edge. “Am not,” he says, using the rail to pull himself up enough to sit back on his heels. “‘m a logia now.”

“You can still make yourself sick with seawater,” Marco tells him. Ace’s hand comes flailing his way and Marco reaches out to grab his tricep and haul him upright. “Come on, yoi. You’re done for today.”

“‘m not done,” Ace slurs, wobbling. “One more time. I’ma get it.”

Marco ducks a bit and drags Ace’s arm over his shoulders, slinging his other arm around his waist. “Sure you will, yoi,” he agrees and starts them moving. “But not today.”

Ace makes a string of noises that’s probably a protest, but he’s also wobbling on his feet so Marco ignores it. They pass Rakuyo as they head belowdeck and he stops to watch Ace trip over his own feet.

“Been playing with the Striker again?”

Marco heaves a sigh and Rakuyo laughs and waves them on. Ace garbles something after him that resolves into “…an’ your mace dog too!”

Marco shakes his head and keeps them moving. Logia weren’t meant to repeatedly throw themselves into the ocean, but Ace doesn’t seem to care about things like rules or logic or self-preservation. The worst part is, it’s kinda endearing when it’s not panic-inducing.

“Where’re we goin’?” Ace asks as they get down the stairs.

“Your bed,” Marco answers patiently.

“Oh,” Ace says, and then, three steps later, “Why?”

“Because you drank a lot of sea water, yoi.”

“I did?” Ace asks, and Marco glances over at him. His eyes are bright, even in the gloom of the hallway, and there’s a flush of red on his cheeks. “Oh, I did. And now I’m sick.”

“Yes,” Marco says, propping him up against the wall in order to open Ace’s door. “You made yourself sick, and now you get to deal with it, yoi.”

“‘m good at that,” Ace says, pushing off the wall to stumble after him. He makes it two steps before his feet stop but his shoulders keep going and he barely manages to catch himself against the door frame, and then he stops to look considering for a second. “I feel more drunk than sick.”

“You drank seawater,” Marco repeats. “You’re a logia, yoi. You’ll be dizzy and have stomach aches and headaches until you sweat it all out. Can you make it to your bed, yoi?”

Ace looks at the bed, all of five steps away, and then down at his feet. “Yes,” he says decisively, right before his knee buckles.

Marco sighs, then steps forward. “Let me help,” he says, and Ace swats his hands away.

“I got it,” Ace says, leaning backwards. “I can just–No! I can–!”

It’s not worth the argument, so Marco scoops him right off the ground. Ace yelps and his hands fly around Marco’s neck on instinct, which makes it easy for Marco to carry him to the bed against the wall. “There we go,” he says, setting Ace down gently, and Ace makes a huffing noise and flops out, taking up as much space as he can.

Marco shoves him over another few inches and sits on the edge beside him. He pulls up a sleeve and rests the inside of his wrist against Ace’s forehead.

It’s hot, but then Ace does tend to run hot, and it’s not like Marco’s at baseline himself. It’s an essentially useless gesture, really, and Marco pushes his hand up and through Ace’s hair as a distraction from how dumb that was.

Ace makes a muttering noise but shoves his head into Marco’s hand, so Marco keeps going. Ace is like an overgrown cat sometimes, but Marco would never say that to his face.

As if to prove his point, Ace stretches out, yawns widely, and then flips over to curl up around where Marco’s sitting. “Don’t like this,” he mumbles.

Marco smiles and runs a hand down Ace’s spine. “You did it to yourself, yoi,” he says.

Ace grumbles something and rubs his face into the sheet for a moment, then looks up at him with fever-shined eyes. “Soup,” he says.

“What?”

“I want soup.”

Leave it to Ace to want food, even after he’s just ingested the one liquid in the world actively against him. There’s no way he should want soup, much less have it, and Marco opens his mouth to tell him so.

Ace’s head is flipped a bit sideways up against his leg, looking up at him with wide eyes and the slightest pout, and instead Marco asks, “What kind, yoi?”

“Whatever,” Ace says, blinking slowly. “We used to have alligator soup when we were sick, you know? Me and Luff. I don’t need it, I’m just–”

“Used to it,” Marco finishes for him. Ace makes a kind of grimacing face that Marco takes for agreement, and he says, “Not many gators around here, yoi.”

“I know,” Ace says. He squints up at Marco through one eye, then the other. “Hey,” he says. “You should stop swaying like that, you know? Sit still.”

“I’ll do that,” Marco says, then drops one big palm over Ace’s eyes. “Why don’t you take a nap, yoi?”

“Kay,” Ace says, and yawns again. He brings one hand up to rest across his eyes as he usually does, and just plops it on top of Marco’s hand, pinning it there. “Nap.”

“Nap,” Marco agrees, and stays there until he’s sure Ace is sound asleep.

He’s careful about working his hand free, even though he has seen Ace sleep through actual storms, and makes sure to cover him with the sheet before he slips out.

He leaves the Commander’s hallway and heads to the galley. It’s early afternoon, so Thatch will be doing dinner prep, and sure enough, he finds his red-headed brother humming and peeling potatoes.

“Can you make alligator soup?” he asks, and Thatch yelps and jumps.

“I dunno,” he says, clutching a potato to his chest. “Can you make noise when you walk?”

Marco keeps his face bland and tilts his head. “Can you?”

Thatch points at him with the peeling knife. “Are you doubting me? I’ll have you know I make excellent alligator soup. Or I do when we have alligators, which isn’t now. There’s no known alligator habitats in a hundred miles of here.”

Marco nods and turns, and Thatch yells after him, “Wait! What’s going on? Where are you going?!”

He just waves once over his shoulder and keeps walking. He’s gotta leave now if he’s going to find any gaters and get them back before dinner time.


	18. i have lots of feelings (most of them are anger)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for Sabo being hurt and Marco taking care of him

“If you don’t back down, I will make you,” Marco says.

“Oh yeah?” the idiot in front of him sneers. “You and what army?”

The idiot starts a lunge and Marco doesn’t even get the chance to tell the guy that he is an army, because that’s when a civilian trips right into the path of the idiot’s knife.

“What–” the kid says, eyes going wide. “Shit!”

Marco steps forward to catch the kid, and the idiot moves back, pulling out the knife. Marco grabs the back of his jacket before the kid falls further and pulls him into his arms to set down gently. “You okay, yoi?”

The kid makes a face but nods. “I’m fine,” he says, pressing a hand to his stomach. “Uh, and he’s getting away.”

“No he’s not,” Marco says, turning. “Stay here.”

The kid mutters something behind him. Marco doesn’t stop to listen; he’s got an idiot to catch.

The guy is easy to track from the skies, and Marco comes down hard on his shoulders and rides the man all the way to the ground. “Hey,” he says as the man wheezes under him. “You hurt somebody, yoi. You’re supposed to apologize.”

The guy scrabbles in the dirt but gets nowhere. He gasps out “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, we’ll leave, I swear–” and Marco sighs.

“You promise to take your crew of imbeciles and leave?”

The guy nods and swears and pants.

“And never come back, yoi?”

“Never ever! Promise!”

As he steps off the guy, a familiar scent reaches Marco’s nose and he wrinkles it. “We’re in the middle of the main street of this very nice town, you know. Have some decency.”

The idiot just sobs as he scrambles upright and runs towards the docks, pants dripping.

That wasn’t even worth it, not really, and not even the townsfolk laughing and cheering are helping. He turns on his heel and barely acknowledges the crowd as he heads back to the alley he left the kid in.

He’s still there, unsurprisingly, but is trying to stand which is just all kinds of dumb.”Hey,” Marco says, hurrying forward and wrapping an arm under the boy’s shoulders. “You okay, yoi?”

The kid hums noncommittally, but when he pulls his hand away, it’s slick and red. “I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth, and Marco sighs.

“Is that “I can walk it off’ fine or ‘I’m dying’ fine?” he says. “I know that trick, yoi. I’ve got brothers like you.”

The kid huffs a laugh and looks up at him. “Me too,” he says, grinning, and then his breath hitches and his face twists.

“Sure you’re fine,” Marco says, and starts hauling him towards the main road. “Let’s get a second opinion, shall we?”

The kid struggles to pull away. “I can walk,” he says. “Lemme go!”

“It’s this or I carry you,” Marco says mildly. It’s not an idle threat.

The kid shakes his head and mutters something, then looks up at Marco again. “It’s just the stomach,” he says, trying to pull away.

“I warned you,” Marco tells him, then ducks and wraps his free arm beneath the brat’s knees, lifting him into a princess carry.

He squawks and flails for a second before grimacing and putting both hands over the hole in his stomach. “Ow,” he complains. “Why are you even doing this? You don’t even know me.”

“You protected me, yoi,” Marco say patiently. He’s not about to mention big brother instincts or that something in the kid’s movements puts him in mind of their newest brother. “Even if you did it by tripping–”

“Hey!”

“–so the least I can do in return is get you help.” And then Marco pauses, because where is he going anyway? He flew here, so he doesn’t have a ship or a room or any medical supplies–perhaps he ought to have thought this through.

Oh well, bound to be a doctor around here, right? He stops and turns to one of the stalls. “Is there a doctor on this island, yoi?”

The lady behind the counter nods and dips something that might’ve been a curtsey a decade back. “Yessir,” she says, pointing the direction he’d been headed. “Second street on the right. There’s a big yellow sign on the door; you can’t miss it. And pardon my saying so, but thank you for your help.”

He nods and turns, hurrying on. “Help?” the kid in his arms says, and he glances down.

“Yeah,” he says. “There was a crew causing trouble, yoi. You met their captain, I believe.”

The kid scoffs. “That idiot was their captain?” he says, and his face is pale and he’s sweating, so Marco widens his steps and picks up the pace.

“Yes. They’ve been in dock for a few days, the villagers said.”

“Z’at what you’re here for?” the kid asks, shifting and pressing both hands hard against his stomach. “Big strong pirate like you, why would you bother?”

Marco slows for the corner in order to avoid jostling him. “No,” he answers, eyes scanning for yellow. “There were rumors–ah, there.”  He hurries forward.

The kid makes an unhappy noise and Marco slows again, trying to keep his arms steady. He gets to the doorstep and then realizes he has no way to knock.

“Can you stand, yoi?”

The kid scoffs at him. “Been trying to for a while. The question is if you’re gonna let me.”

There’s something familiar in the glower, but Marco ignores it and gently sets him back on his feet, keeping one arm around his shoulders and knocking.

“You really don’t have to–” the kid’s saying when the door swings open.

“Help you?” a voice asks from inside, and Marco straightens up as best he can to make sure his mark is on full display.

“Is this a clinic?” he asks. “The lady in the market said–”

“Oh! Yes, please, just a moment!” The door closes and there’s the sound of a chain and lock disengaging before the door swings wide open. “So sorry about that. With those ruffians in town, well. Can’t be too safe! Come in! Please. Where are you hurt?”

“I’m not, yoi. It’s–”

He leans over to pick the kid up again, and the look he levels Marco with is impressive. “Pick me up again,” he says, “and I will stab you myself.”

Marco waves a hand at the kid, and the middle-aged woman at the door looks him over critically. “Best come in, then,” she says, and steps back to let them in.

The kid strides in with a great deal of dignity and only the slightest limp, and Marco shakes his head but steps in. This is about as far as obligation takes him, but now he’s curious, and, well, he has time.

“Just over here, lad,” the woman says, gesturing towards a table and heading for the sink herself to wash her hands. “Hop on up; let’s have us a look-see. Stabbed, was it?”

“Yes,” Marco says, leaning on the doorframe. He knows better than to intrude on a doctor’s domain.

“Knife wasn’t serrated and wasn’t treated with any poison,” the kid adds, shucking his jacket and hat, and Marco’s eyebrows go up.

The lady doctor hums, tugging up the hem of his shirt and poking at the wound.”Not very deep, is it? And nothing vital at all. You’re a very lucky young man, aren’t you?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t quite say that,” he says, and given the sheer amount of scar tissue on display on his torso, Marco is inclined to agree.

But things aren’t adding up at all, and he glances over at the kid’s coat. It’s hanging heavy and swinging slightly from momentum, not at all the way a bit of fabric would. Then there’s the scars and the threat and the report, and add that to the grace that seems familiar to him somehow, and Marco’s more and more sure this kid is anything but a civilian passerby.

“Get into a fight, did you?” the lady asks, turning to rummage through a drawer.

“Tripped and fell onto an idiot’s knife,” he says, giving her a bright big grin, and she looks up at him and huffs.

“Lads will be trouble,” she says. “Doesn’t even need stitches, really. I’m just going to clean it and put on a bandage, and as long as you don’t do anything strenuous in the next week or two, you’ll heal right up.”

“So it’s not serious,” Marco says slowly.

“I shouldn’t say it was, no.”

He meets the kid’s eyes over the doctor’s head, and the look he gets in return is steady. “Tripped,” Marco repeats, and gets a flash of teeth in return.

“An accident,” the kid says.

“Because you don’t know how to fight, yoi,” Marco guesses

“Me?” the kid says, spreading his hands. “I’m harmless.”

“And you’re not armed at all, then?”

The kid’s eyes cut to his coat for just a split second, confirming everything Marco suspects, but he doesn’t for one second doubt there’s at least a hold-out weapon somewhere on his person. Maybe in the boots? Probably in the boots.

“Mmhmm. And what were you doing in that alley, yoi?”

Wide eyes blink guilelessly at him. “Just looking for someone.”

“There, all done,” the doctor interrupts, and Marco’s eyes snap back to her. “Keep that clean and dry, lad, and it probably won’t even scar.”

“Thank you,” the kid–who’s actually probably not that much of a kid at all–says, hopping off the table, and she nods and quotes a price. He looks to Marco, so the doctor turns to as well.

Well, it was his idea, and he did insist, so Marco sighs and forks over the beli. It’s really not much at all, and he has a sneaking suspicion she’s given them a steep discount, so he tips her pretty well. “Thank you,” he says to her and means it, because she’s been quick and thorough and professional and not asked any dangerous questions.

“Pleasure’s mine, I’m sure,” she says, and bustles them both to the door. There’s an awkward moment where neither of them want to go first and leave the other at their back, but the boy finally sighs and steps through, turning as soon as he’s across the threshold. “Thank you, ma’am,” he says, tipping his hat, and she beams at him.

“Don’t go wrecking my hard work, now!” she says, and Marco slides past her to join him. She closes the door on them both, and Marco’s left with a stranger who set up a situation that Marco just can’t get his head around.

“What was this for, yoi?” he asks. When in doubt, be direct, that’s what his family’s taught him.

The stranger just looks at him for a long moment. “I think you’ll do,” he says finally, stepping backwards into the street. “Take care of him, won’t you?”

“Take care of who?” Marco asks, but he’s already turning and waving one hand negligently over his shoulder. “Who are you, yoi?”

The kid spins on one bootheel, and he grins, big and bright and so familiar that Marco can almost place it. “Friend of a friend,” he calls back, and then disappears into the crowd.

Marco stares after him for a while, long after he’s vanished, and then he huffs and jumps, taking to the air with a rush of blue and heat. It’s been a weird day, he thinks, full of stabbings and smiles, and he can’t wait to get back home.

Luckily it’s a short flight, as the phoenix flies. Jozu’s in the lookout so Marco caws a hello and circles down to the deck, and he touches down on the deck of the Moby Dick not three hours after he left the island.

“Welcome back!” Pops says, and Marco waves at him and heads that way to report in.

He runs into Ace halfway across the deck, and Ace’s face lights up. “Marco!” he says, grinning. “You’re back!”

Marco stops and blinks, blond and scars overlapping in his memory momentarily, and he frowns.

Ace’s grin falls. “Something wrong? You’re not hurt or anything, are you?”

“Ace,” he says slowly, “have you got any brothers?“

"Just the one! Luffy! He’s pretty great! He–”

Yes, Ace has mentioned him before, and likely would go off on a tangent if allowed to, but if Marco remembers correctly…“But he has black hair, doesn’t he? And he’s not on the Grand Line?”

Ace tilts his hat back, looking at him curiously. “Yeah, he does, and no, not yet. What’s up?”

But that smile was so familiar. “No other brothers, yoi?”

Ace’s smile falls, and he turns serious. “…Marco?”

“Never mind, yoi,” Marco says, and keeps walking, leaving Ace to look after him. He’s got a report to give, and it was probably only a passing fancy anyway.


	19. under the skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for something going wrong on a mission and Sabo can't stop laughing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> archiving a bunch of tumblr drabbles before the site dies lol

“Lemme see it,” Sabo says, and Koala grits her teeth and does not let him do anything of the kind.

“C’mon,” he wheedles, and lunges for her hand. She has a split second to think and decides this is not the hill she’s willing to die on, so she lets him catch her hand and pull her aside. 

“How’d you even get a splinter?” he asks, working gloved fingers over her palm. “I know the sloop was old, but–”

“Ow!” she says as he pokes a sore spot, and she tries to tug her hand back but he’s not letting it go. “Hey, that’s enough.”

“I think we’ve got some tweezers at the hideout; c’mon, we can go look–”

She grumbles and makes him drag her along, just to be ornery.

“Hey!” Some idiot cuts between the two of them, breaking Sabo’s grip, and the two of them turn to face this stranger. “Hey, she doesn’t wanna go with you, asshole!”

“What,” says Sabo.

“The lady said no,” the stranger says, edging backwards to tuck Koala behind him, and Sabo blinks.

“You don’t understand–” he starts, taking a step forward, and the guy steps forward to meet him.

“I understand plenty,” he snarls. “She said no, and you grabbed her wrist and dragged her off. “No one kidnaps a lady right in front of me!” He turns his head over his shoulder without moving his eyes. “You okay, ma’am?”

Sabo snorts before he can help it and Koala repeats, “Ma’am?”

“Sure, sure,” Sabo says, lifting both hands and stepping back. “She’s all yours, mister, and welcome to her.”

“What?” both the stranger and Koala say at the same time, but it can’t dampen Sabo’s grin. Sabo turns down the nearest alley, scrabbles up to a windowsill and over onto the roof as soon as possible to eavesdrop.

“Thank you,” Koala is saying, only it’s in that gritted-teeth/twitching-eye way that means she is not thankful at all, but the guy doesn’t seem to catch that.

“Of course!” he says, puffing himself up. “You can always count on me to rescue damsels in distress!”

Sabo gasps quietly as he falls over, and down below, Koala draws a breath.

“You think,” she says, stepping back from the guy, “You think I can’t handle that moron? You think he could drag me anywhere I didn’t want to go? That moron?! You think I can’t dropkick him into the ocean any time I damn well please?! I’m not a damsel and I’m not in distress! And you! Stop laughing! I can hear you from here!”


	20. aggresive passivity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for Sabo getting hurt and hiding it

 

“Phew,” Ace says, falling back a step and dropping his fists. “That was fun, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sabo agrees, straightening up. “Fun.” He looks over the idiots sprawled out on the ground in front of them, the door to the back room, and spits.

“Yeah,” Ace says. “You wanna take the kids back or should I?”

“Go for it,” Sabo says, tucking his elbow down against his side and waving the other hand negligently. “I’m gonna head back first.”

Ace glances over his shoulder as he moves towards the back room. “You good?”

Sabo huffs and rolls his eyes dramatically. “I _think_ I can make it back to the ship before keeling over from all this massive blood loss I’m suffering.”

Ace rolls his eyes right back and lights up his fist, punching right through the lock on the door to the storage room. The whimpers that float out make Sabo set his face, but Ace is good with kids; he’ll take care of it.

Besides, he’s not really all that sure he actually can make it back to the ship before fainting from all the blood he’s losing.

He keeps his shoulders back and down as he heads through the door. It pulls his side with every step but if Ace looks back—well. The second the door closes behind him, though, he lets his posture hunch over and staggers to the side, leaning against the wall.

He doesn’t take his coat off; he’s not sure if he could get it back on. That that would bring questions, so he reaches for the bottom hem and drags the bottom half up his back and over his shoulder to hang out of his way.

Untucking his shirt is a more delicate proposition but he manages with careful fingers, careful to prevent white from touching his skin on the left side.

It’s pretty deep, he finds when he actually sees it. It’s a stab, so less surface area to control, but more chance of infection. Antibiotics for sure, he thinks, and hisses as he tugs his cravat off.

He uses his handkerchief as a pad then wraps the cravat carefully over it, pulling it tight and tucking the overlapping ends in on top of the wound. It won’t hold long, but it doesn’t need to, just long enough for him to get back to his ship and to his first aid kit.

He lets his shirt fall untucked and tugs his coat back into place, then starts out to the docks. It’s a balanced stride where he’s aware of every movement and trying hard to look natural. He keeps his elbow clamped down over his side, letting his hand fall loose.

The walk seems a lot longer than he knows it should be, and dark spots are swarming the edges of his vision when he finally makes it to the berths.

His is tucked away towards the back and he aims for it. It’s hidden behind the bulk of the Moby Dick, right? Was it one past, or two…?

Turns out to not matter because there’s a swarm of Whitebeards congregated on the dock in front of the Moby, and Sabo sets his teeth, tucks his elbow in closer and pastes a smile on his face.

“Hey!” says one. Ace introduced him earlier but Sabo can’t pull up his name right now. “Hey, you’re back! Where’s Ace?”

He bites back his first answer of _he got lost_ because he doesn’t have time to play right now. Instead he says, “The idiots had a backroom full of kidnapped kids. He’s seeing them home.”

“Of course he is,” the guy says, rolling his eyes. “Ace is, like, a kid magnet.”

It’s true, of course, and Sabo himself is proof. “He’ll be back in a bit,” Sabo says, and turns sideways to sidle between pirates.

Why are there so many of them? He brushes past Marco the Phoenix, who is unmistakable in any crowd, and Haruta, the heart of the largest info gathering network on the seas. He’d love to stay and talk shop but—later. He can do it later.

“Hey,” someone says quietly as he's breaking through the other side. “Hey, you. Are you hurt?”

Sabo turns, letting his smile sharpen with just a bit of the pain he’s biting back. “Me? Hurt?” he says, drawling it out. “In a little scuffle like that?”

Marco holds up one arm, the one Sabo had brushed against, and the uneven streak of scarlet is pretty telling. Shit, he’s usually not that clumsy.

“I’m fine,” he says, spreading his arms, and his side throbs as the elbow pressure cuts out. “I’m just gonna go make my report and—”

“You’re hurt,” the first guy says, basically teleporting in front of him, and Sabo sways in surprise. “Oh, shit, are you—”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Sabo says, trying to brush by him, but a strong arm catches his shoulder and he can’t help it—he hisses and claps his hand over his side.

“Oh _shit_ ,” the guy says, and his voice is just a bit too high and just a bit too fast. “No, no, don’t faint on me, Ace’s bro—no!”

“Screw you,” Sabo says, head spinning. “Lemme just—” and then he faints on the guy anyway.

~@~

“—because he’s an _idiot_ ,” is what Sabo wakes up to.

“No, you,” he says immediately, then pauses to cough up half of a lung.

“Shut up, idiot,” Ace says, then there’s a hand on his shoulder, holding him down, and a straw in front of his mouth.

He goes for an eye roll but just ends up blinking. His eyelids are gummy and there’s a kind of odd layer of fuzzy between him and his body. He tries to lift a hand to the straw but it drops back down and he watches it flop. Huh.

“M’I drugged?” he gets out, trying again to push the straw away.

“You’re on painkillers,” Ace says, just this side of snapping. “You know, due to the giant hole in your side.”

“What hole,” Sabo gets out. “Didn’t notice—”

“You stopped to _bandage_ it,” Ace says. “Poorly, but still. You knew it was there. And you didn’t tell me.” He brings the cup towards Sabo’s mouth again, and Sabo stares up at him.

It’s Ace, and the crew is the one Ace trusts. Sabo opens his mouth and drinks whatever it is Ace is trying to give him.

“You scared me,” Ace says, quietly, once he’s set the cup aside and perched himself on whatever it is Sabo’s laying on, and Sabo flops his hand over to touch Ace’s. “Don’t do that again, okay? If you’re hurt, tell me, okay?”

Sabo stares at him and thinks a whole of things he doesn’t say. He doesn’t say anything.

“Promise me,” Ace says, holding his gaze. “There’s no reason not to accept help when it’s right here and freely given. Please, let me help when you need it.”

Sabo works his mouth just a second, trying to put what he’s feeling into words, and says, “I’m trying.”

“That’s not—” but Ace stops, sighs, and says, “Are you really?”

Sabo turns his head a bit, just enough to look at the cup. The cup of liquid in a stranger’s infirmary, a liquid he didn’t identify or protest despite being incapacitated, all because it was Ace that was offering it to him. “Yeah,” he says. “I really am.”


	21. lying lies and the liars who lie them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for sabo+ace reunion. I hear some of yall that kinda thing?

The building explodes and Ace thinks, _gee, that wasn’t supposed to happen_.

“This is _your fault_ ,” the strange guy who’d fallen out of the ceiling says, grabbing Jack under his arms and hauling him upright. “This is your fault but somehow I just know I’m gonna catch the blame.”

“This isn’t the time,” Marco snaps. “Is everyone out?”

“Yeah,” Ace says, then squints to check. “Yeah, I think so.”

“You _think so?”_ the really high-strung stranger says, shrugging out of the ruins of his coat and beating out the bits of flame on his shirt.

Ace sighs and does a headcount, coming up with three casualties and no one missing. “Yup, we’re all here.”

Marco scoops up Jack and Ace makes sure Hikeki’s got Jimnez before chivvying them all forward. “The ship’s not far, yoi. We’ll make sure you get patched up.”

“I’m fine,” the guy blatantly lies, and Ace rolls his eyes and checks him over. Weight unevenly distributed, arm tucked in, burn scars pulling tight—yeah, he’s not fine.

“C’mon,” Ace says, reaching out to grab the wrist the guy’s gesturing with. “Flency’s great with broken arms—”

“My arm’s not broken—”

“Like hell it’s not,” Ace says, because that’s how people hold their arm when they’re pretending it’s not broken; he’d know.

“I’ve got my own crew waiting—” the guy tries, but he’s meeting Ace’s eyes and Ace scoffs.

“I don’t need _help_ ,” the guy says, planting his heels and twisting his wrist up and out of Ace’s hold.

That’s a lie, too, but Ace’d bet the guy doesn’t even recognize it as one. “Look, if you say this is my fault, medical attention is the least we can do about it,” Ace says. It isn’t his fault, but if that’s what it takes, he can play this game too. He learned from the best, after all.

Marco’s already heading off with the rest of the squad behind him, so Ace wraps one hand around the good wrist and gets his other hand right above the elbow and cheerfully marches the guy forward in a come-along hold.

The stranger hisses and spits but doesn’t fight, not after his first try wrenched at his other shoulder. “This is kidnapping!” he yells loudly to anyone in hearing distance, but the explosion cleared most everyone off and the tattoo on Ace’s back will keep the rest at bay.

“Yup,” Ace confirms, dragging him forward a few more steps.

“This is _illegal!”_

“Pirate.”

Luckily Marco was right and the ship really isn’t far. Ace walks his squawking captive right down to the infirmary where he sits in sullen silence until Flency nods and offers to put it in a cast.

“No,” he says then. “I’ve got a quicker way to heal it.” There’s a beat of silence as he looks over to Ace, but Ace just stares back. Finally Flency shrugs and surrenders a sling instead.

“Need help?” Ace asks, and the guy bares his teeth and manages it one handed, with the help of his elbows and some truly vile language. Ace watches til he gets it in place, panting and trying to pretend he isn’t, then Ace raises his eyebrows and says, “You good?”

“I’m outta here, is what I am,” the guy says, standing and raising his hand like he’s expecting to find a hat to tip, then pauses and turns the gesture into pawing his hair back into place. Ace tries not to snort. Does he have to lie even with his body language?

Still, the guy is a violent, loud, lying stranger and they can’t really keep him on the ship if he doesn’t wanna stay, despite the nagging feeling that Ace equates to sending someone out still injured.

He follows the guy out onto the main deck and they meet Marco coming the other way.

“Pops wants to talk to you, yoi.” The guy turns, opens his mouth and from the set of his shoulders Ace is expecting an explosion of nope.

However, his eyes catch on Ace, then his shoulders settle, his chin comes up, and he says, “Your captain? I rather think I’d like to speak to him myself.”

Ooo, someone’s mad, huh? Ace skulks along behind them, all the way to the main deck where Pops is sitting, surrounded by a handful of the crew. Given Thatch’s presence and the foldable table, they must’ve been having a picnic or something.

The guy ignores all of that and marches straight up to the chair. “Whitebeard, I presume?” he says, pausing for the confirming nod. He dips into a short, stiff, angry bow and says, “As a representative for an allied force, I am obligated to tell you that your crew are _reckless idiots_. Please consider teaching them manners.”

Pops regards the guy and then he says, “Did one of my sons wrong you?”

“They interrupted a vital mission for the Revolutionary Army,” the guy says, hands fisted at his sides. “One we _informed you of_ in advance when you entered this area.”

“I didn’t know,” Ace says, stepping forward. “We didn’t know there was some kinda secret mission thing going on.”

“And we didn’t know about yours, whatever it was. If we had, we’d’ve planned around you. This,” the guy says, turning to Pops and throwing out one arm dramatically, “is why we even _have_ an information sharing policy.”

“Our mission was top secret,” Ace says blithely. “Couldn’t be helped.”

“I’ll top secret your _face_ ,” the guy says, eyes wild. “You didn’t even have a plan! You just barged in for no reason!”

“A drug-pusher’s warehouse that’s been wired to explode is not no reason,” Ace says. “It was downtown, in the middle of the day. We just heard; we had to act right away.”

The guy blinks, just once, then says, just as aggressively, “We knew all about it–”

“Lie,” Ace points out. “You wouldn’t’ve been alone—”

“I had backup waiting offsite—”

“Lie. They’d be here—”

“I had it handled—”

“ _Super_ lie! You had nothing handled, you idiot!”

“I know what I’m doing, Ace!”

“You’d have _died_ , Sabo!”

“What?” the guy who’s Sabo—he is, isn’t he? He has to be—says, and Ace finds it’s his turn to have his hands curl into fists.

“You’d have died,” he says, “or been stuck in the middle of an explosion— _again_ , Sabo, god—so don’t you tell me you had everything handled. Don’t you lie to me, Sabo. Not to me.”

“I’ll lie to whoever I want,” _definitely_ Sabo says, and it’s probably instinct, probably habit. He probably doesn’t even mean it, but it hits Ace low and hard and he’s moving before he can think.

He’s been throwing punches since he could walk, if not before, and he’s very well trained, but if there’s one person in this world who’s got more experience ducking him than Sabo, it’s only Luffy.

Sabo drops his shoulders and comes up under Ace’s punch to wrap his one good arm around Ace, and he hits with so much force they go over backwards. The shock to his spine isn’t anything to the shock buzzing across his nerves, and his own arms come up on instinct.

“ _Ace_ ,” Sabo says to his collar bone and Ace squeezes him gently, then harder because he’s really here, right? Really real?

He has a second to float in the light feeling before Thatch leans over and squints down at them. “Wait,” he says. “Are we still mad at Ace? What’s going on?”

“We’re always mad at Ace,” Sabo says because he’s a _brat_ , and Ace jabs his finger into the spot under Sabo’s ribs that, yup, still makes him squirm and squawk, and Ace shoves himself up to sitting.

“He’s the mean one,” Ace protests, taking the hand Thatch offers and letting himself be pulled up. He turns to offer a hand to Sabo, but the look on Sabo’s upturned face—narrowing eyes, pursed lips, tilted chin—has him retracting it even as Sabo reaches for it.

Sabo huffs and stands using the one-planted-hand swing-legs move Gramps taught them so long ago. “You’re the one who ruined in my mission,” Sabo says, brushing himself and his sling off, and now that Ace knows what his outfit probably looked like before, the sooty white shirt and singed pants look weird to his eyes.

“Is there a problem here?” Pops asks, and Ace looks up at him and grins, grins like he hasn’t since he set off to sea alone.

“We’re good,” Ace says, turning to Sabo and clapping him on his good shoulder. “Right?”

“No,” Sabo says, all pissy, but he doesn’t shrug off the hand, so he’s not really mad. “The mission really was quite important.”

“So we fix it,” Ace says, then turns to Pops. “Permission to follow my brother around and fix what he broke?”

“What _I—”_ Sabo sputters, but Ace waves him off.

“I can handle it—” he tries and Ace huffs.

“You are literally down one arm, idiot. Let us help.”

“It’s a secret—"

“You already told us about it, right? Cause the info sharing thing you were yelling about? So let’s go do the thing.”

“I don’t want you to get—”

“If you end that sentence with hurt, I’m gonna hurt _you_ ,” Ace warns him, but, y’know, cheerfully. “So?”

“I dunno what’s going on, but I’m in,” Thatch says. “Anyone Ace willingly calls brother is worth helping.”

Sabo looks to Pops helplessly and Pops smiles at him, sly and happy. “We are obligated to help in the trade of information,” he says, and Sabo stares at him then groans.

“Fine,” he says, going to throw up his arms and forgetting one was in a sling. “Fine! Okay! Let’s just take the most obvious group of pirates ever on an infiltration mission! Sure, why not!”

“Great!” Ace says, dragging him into a gentle headlock. A headlock full of love and caring. “We’re heading out! Marco, you coming?”

Ace glances back and Thatch is picking up his sword and settling it in his belt and Marco is watching them all with glittering eyes. “Wouldn’t miss this impending shipwreck for the world, yoi.”


	22. baby baby who's got a random magic baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for Ace de-aged to a baby

“Where,” Thatch says with excruciating care, “did you find a _baby_?”

Marco flaps the one had he has free and hisses quietly, “I don’t know, yoi! Just–I was on deck and then there was a _baby_! What do I _do?”  
_

“First you calm down,” Thatch says, just this side of panicked. “Second, you–we’re on the _ocean!_ Where did a baby even _come from?”  
_

“It was crying, yoi!”

“That’s not an answer! Wait, was?” Thatch peers closer but the baby is indeed not screaming. “Huh. It’s kinda cute, in a really ugly kind of way.”

“It’s all…pink,” Marco says, but leans back to let Thatch lean in. 

Thatch immediately sticks a finger in the baby’s face and makes cooing noises. “Who’s a random magic baby?” he says, tickling its nose. “It’s you! You’re the random magic baby!”

“I don’t understand,” Marco says blankly.

“Here, lemme–” Thatch goes to take the baby from Marco’s arms and Marco recoils so hard he practically teleports. “Hey!”

“You’ll drop it,“ Marco hisses, not because he thinks Thatch will actually drop it but because he’s possessed by a sudden terror of hurting the tiny life that is asleep in his arms in any way.

“Ma,” the little thing in his arms says, and waves a little fist at him. “Ma!”

“Awww,” Thatch and Marco say involuntarily. “Lookit him,” Thatch says. “He thinks you’re his mama!”

“I’ll hurt you, yoi,” Marco says with his heart in his eyes and zero intent to do anything of the kind. 

“I think it’s sweet! C’mon, please let me hold him?”

Marco’s hand goes up in flames. Complete accident, of course, just pure instinct. Really.

“Ma!” the baby shouts, then grabs for Marco’s flaming fingers and Marco’s heart stops in his chest.

But the baby grabs them and isn’t crying. It’s not yelling or screaming or–it’s.

It’s sucking on his fingers.

“Is the baby eating your fire?” Thatch asks, and he sounds about as dumbfounded as Marco feels.

“I think so?” Marco lets just a bit more heat into his fingers and the baby burbles happily.

They both stare, and then finally Marco says, “He likes fire. Do you–do you think…?"

“Oh shit,” Thatch says, the steps back and turns to yell at the entire deck, “Hey! Hey, has anyone seen Ace?”

“What,” Marco says, letting the baby eat fire right off his fingers. “What. How– _why?”  
_

No one answers, but it is the Grand Line. Still he’s so unequipped for this. 

“Pops,” he says, and then turns his head and bellows, “ _Pops!”_


	23. #oops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ask was for Ace texting the wrong number

_hey, uh, dunno if you were actually serious, but you’re still in for this killing Whitebeard plan, right?_

…Yes. Killing Whitebeard. That sounds…fun. Tell me the plan again?

_sheesh, how drunk were you? the plan’s the same as my plans always are_

I was drunk. Very drunk. So drunk I forgot everything. Please tell me again.

_y’know, smash’n’murder. as i do. i ain’t some kind of tactical genius here, that was your job, remember?_

Ah, yes, of course. I do, in fact, have a plan. We should meet up somewhere to talk about it.

_why? smash’n’murder’s always worked for me before_

Because I

I found plans. Plans for the Whitebeard corporate office building. That will show you the best ways in. Isn’t that worth it?

_you did? man, you’re the best! i figured you’d still be mad and on about how it’s a dumb idea and a suicide mission and shit lol_

_glad you’re being so reasonable about this, especially after that whole jinbe fight thing_

…Yes. Well. I tell you what. Let’s meet at the cafe across the street from Whitebeard Towers this afternoon at one and I’ll point out the best entry ways for you.

_you’re the best bro. omw, see you soon  
_

I am the best bro. I am also a good son.

_wait you hate your dad_

I’d say I’m sorry, but I’d be lying

_sorry for whatekslkefml;dmfs;lmfsde_

_~@~_

“Did you really have to taze him?”

“Didn’t you hear the stories, yoi? He fought Jinbe to a tie. For _five days_.”

“Yeah, but he was, y’know, refreshingly honest about wanted to murder Pops.”

“Thatch.”

“What?”

“Thatch, _no.”  
_

“Why not?” _  
_

“Oh, I don’t know, yoi. Maybe the _murder attempt_?”

“Didn’t stop pops from adopting you, you giant hypocrite.”

“Thatch–”

“I’m dragging him to Pops and you can’t stop me.”

“Thatch, get back here–”

“Sir? Uh, sir? About the bill…?”

“Bill? What bill? Wait, he ate _how much_? Thatch, get back here, yoi! Thatch! He can’t murder Pops if _I murder him first!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sabo was still mad at him. mad enough to set him up for failure???


	24. it's a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for Haruta and Ace trying to bake

“Okay, Thatch does this all the time; it can’t possibly be that hard,” Haruta says, opening the book. “Hm, vanilla, lemon, pound, chocolate—chocolate!”

“Chocolate,” Ace agrees. “Can’t go wrong with chocolate.”

“Right, I’ll get the bowl, you get, let’s see, flour, sugar, and baking…uh, soda.”  
Ace hums and moseys over to the pantry and Haruta starts going through the list. “Oh, get the vanilla while you’re in there!”

“But it’s a chocolate cake!” Ace calls back. “Why are we putting vanilla in a chocolate cake?”

“That’s a good point. Yeah, don’t mind that then. Oh, is there chocolate powder in there?”

“There’s powdered chocolate and also cocoa. Which one?”

“What’s the difference?”

“I dunno, hang on. Huh, this one’s sweet and this one’s blech.”

“The sweet one, then? It’s a cake after all.”

“Gotcha. What else?”

“That’s all from the pantry, I think,” Haruta says. “We also need eggs and milk.”

Ace makes his way back, arms full of bags and containers. “Cool,” he says, dumping everything on the counter. “How much of what goes where?”

“A cup of flour and a cup and a half of sugar in that bowl,” Haruta says from the refrigerator, gesturing blindly with the hand holding the milk jug. 

Ace leans up to the cabinet and gets down a cup. “One of flour and one and a half of sugar,” he repeats, and starts pouring the flour into the beer mug. When it’s full, he dumps it into the bowl and has to take a break to cough away the cloud that’s risen. 

Haruta comes back over with the milk and two eggs. “These go in too; scoot over.”

“But I’m not done with the sugar!”

“Order doesn’t matter; it’s all getting mixed together anyway.”

“All right,” Ace says and takes a step to the side, using the other counter to pour the sugar into the mug and dumping that on top on the milk Haruta’s added. “Oh, and how much baking soda?”

Haruta breaks the eggs in, and Ace dumps another probably half mug of sugar on top. “I think it said a spoon,” Haruta says, so Ace digs up a spoon and scoops out some baking soda to put on top. “Oh, and apparently we need salt.”

“Salt in a cake?” Ace says, making a face. “No thanks. We’re skipping that too. What kind of recipe is this?”

“One for chocolate cake,” Haruta says back. “So add the chocolate.”

“Right, how much?”

“Let’s see, the recipe says two thirds of a cup.”

“Sure,” Ace says, topping the mug up to full because more chocolate means more delicious. He adds that in too, and this time doesn’t get caught in the powder cloud.

“Okay, now you stir this up and I’m gonna get the pan, which we’re supposed to flour.”

“What does that mean?” Ace asks, looking up and moving the spoon around the bowl. Yet more powder explodes upwards into his face, and he accidentally inhales it again. “Blech! Ugh! Who knew baking was so dangerous?”

“You’re probably doing it wrong,” Haruta says, dumping a handful of flour into the square pan. 

“How do you stir things wrong?” Ace asks, looking up from the congealing lump of black coming together in the bowl.

Haruta places the pan down next to him and says, “Okay, now put that in here.” 

Ace obligingly tilts up the bowl and scrapes the lumpy dough out into the pan. “Is it supposed to be that thick and gritty?”

“The oven will melt it together,” Haruta assures him. “We just gotta bake this at…what temperature does the book say?”

“Uh…350 degrees. And we’re supposed to preheat the oven first.”

“Preheat? Like, make hot?”

“I guess?”

Haruta stars at him over the pan, and Ace blinks back until Haruta sighs and says, “Well, go on, Mr. Fire Logia. Preheat the oven.”

“Oh, right,” Ace says, and opens the oven door. “Huh, this thing is huge!” He leans his head in and looks around. “I don’t see a place to hold the heat or whatever.”

“Heat the entire thing, then,” Haruta says impatiently. “Look, this is getting heavy, okay? Hurry up.”

“Okay, okay,” Ace says, sticking his hand in and lighting it up. “Oven is heated; there you go.”

“Great, now move.” Haruta slides the pan in and closes the door, then turns the knob on the front to HIGH. 

Ace squints at it. “Is that 350?”

“Higher temp means it’s done quicker, right?”

“Right,” Ace agrees, and starts gathering the bags to take back to the pantry. “So that’s baking, huh? That’s not so hard.”

“I dunno what Thatch is always complaining about, if that’s all it takes to make a cake,” Haruta agrees, putting the bowl in the sink. “And in twenty minutes, it’ll be done!”

“All right,” Ace says, and starts patting himself down. “Now how do I get this powder off me?”

“It’s powder,” Haruta says, closing the book. “Burn it off or something.”

Ace nods but before he can, the door to the kitchen slams open to reveal a panting Thatch. “You!” he says, pointing from one to the other. “What are you doing in here?”

“Noooothing,” Haruta says, leaning back and putting on an innocent expression.  
“Really? Cause it doesn’t look like nothing,” Thatch says. “What with the dirty dishes and the fact that Ace is covered in flour.”

“Oh, right,” Ace says, and lights up his finger.

“No!” Thatch yells and lunges for him. “Oh no, do not, don’t you dare put flour near an open flame! Do not use your fire in this kitchen!”

“What? Why?”

“Flour,” Thatch says, one hand still wrapped around Ace’s wrist and the other flying out for dramatic effect. “Flour is explosive.”

“What, really?”

“Mmhmm, in high quantities and when under pressure and exposed to high heats, it goes boom very well. Which is why I want to know what you two troublemakers are doing in my kitchen that involves covering the walking match with boomdust.”

“Uh,” Ace says, and casts a glance at the oven. “We wanted a cake but didn’t want to bother you…”

Thatch stares at him, then closes his eyes. “Okay,” he says and lets Ace’s hand drop. “Okay, that was…sweet. But please don’t.”

“Too late,” Haruta says. “It’s probably almost ready.”

“Almost—” Thatch whirls towards the oven and zeroes in on the knob. “Tell me there’s nothing in there.”

Ace fiddles with his fingers. “Exactly how much flour does it take to explode?” he asks meekly.

“Right,” Thatch says, grabbing the towel that’s tucked into his belt and waving it. “Out! Out! Everyone out!”

“Hey!” Haruta protests. “But that’s our cake!”

“It sure is,” Thatch says, cracking the oven door open. The noxious black smoke that comes pouring out makes both Ace and Haruta recoil, but Thatch just moves grimly forward. “And you can eat it. Every bite.”

“Ah,” Ace says, falling back another step.

“No thanks,” Haruta says.

“You wanted cake,” Thatch says, and the thing he pulls out of the oven is bubbly and crispy and uneven, and as they watch, half of it expands and the other half caves in.

“I’m not hungry after all,” Ace says, trying to subtly angle for the door.  
“Yeah, I think I’ve got something to do—”

“—gonna go do paperwork—”

“—wait for dinner, no problem—”

Thatch grins and it is not a nice expression. “But it would be such a waste to not try it.”

“I’m good, really—”

“Oh, someone’s calling me—”

Thatch takes a step towards them and they both turn and bolt. “Get back here!” he yells after them in a voice to rival Pops’. “Come eat this cake!”

“Never!” Ace yells over his shoulder, and Haruta nearly bowls over Blamenco and Marco as they flee. 

Blamenco stares after them, then turns to look towards the howls of anger coming from the kitchen. “I feel like I missed something.”

Marco keeps his gaze straight ahead and does not look around. “If I don’t ask, I won’t have to deal with it, yoi.”

“Does that actually work?”

“I live in hope,” Marco says as Thatch yells for Ace and Haruta to come eat cake and the two flee in terror. “Hope and denial.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for Thatch's Bad Day of cooking for Garp during Wish By Spirit

Thatch hums as he pulls another bag of carrots out of the crate and hauls them up on the countertop. Where’s the peeler again? He just had it, it was just in his hand. Where’d he put it down?

He glances up from the counter into the mess proper, not ‘cause he thinks his peeler’s out there, just to have a middle distance to stare into while trying to remember. He had it before, for the potatoes, and then–

The door to the mess slams open, and he totally doesn’t jump, not even a little. He does look up, though, with the other few who are in the room, just in time to see Marco step aside.

 _Marine_ , is Thatch’s first thought. It couldn’t not be, not with that amount of white, and his second thought is, _oh no, not_ him.

But Garp the Fist apparently cares little for the feelings of mere chefs because he remains real and solid and standing in Thatch’s mess regardless.

“This is the mess, yoi,” Marco says like he’s giving a tour, and Thatch–

Ducks. Hides. Falls below the level of the counter and puts his back against the cabinets because no. Why? _No._

Why him? Why here? He couldn’t possibly know, there’s no way.

Marco’s voice is coming closer, though, saying, “–in-house by our head chef, who’s…Thatch?” Thatch swallows a squeak and looks up. Marco’s leaning over the edge of the counter to look down at him. “Everything okay?”

“Yes!” Thatch says, too high and too fast, scrambling upright. “Yeah, a-okay! I just–dropped my peeler! Haha silly me better just go wash this now–”

He looks up into a face that’s older and smaller than he remembers, but no less fearsome. “Uh,” he says, gripping the counter in both hands. “Hi?”

Garp looks at him narrowly and Thatch braces himself. It’s been more than a decade, at least, and he’s different now; there’s no reason Garp would recognize him–

“Do you know how to cook for a D?” Garp asks, and Thatch nods mutely. “Good! Cause I’m hungry!”

 _Oh_ , Thatch thinks, still trembling just a bit. Aloud he says, “Okay.”

Marco’s looking at him, though, because he knows Thatch well enough to know something’s wrong. “You okay?”

 _No_ , Thatch thinks. _No, I’m face-to-face with a demon from my past who tried to kill or arrest me and he doesn’t even recognize me and I’m still terrified._ He opens his mouth and says, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Marco nods, but his eyes are sharp and Thatch can tell he’ll be hearing about this later. For now, though, Marco just nods. “I’ll go get James and Covey, yoi,” he says, backing away from them.

Thatch nods. “Yeah, thanks,” he says, then takes a deep breath. What’s past is past, and if Garp doesn’t remember one kid out of probably hundreds, then there’s no reason to make him suspicious.

He looks up at Garp the Fist, Hero of the Marines, and locks his knees. “Sure thing,” he says, and puts on his best smile. “What are you in the mood for?”

Garp’s gaze meets his, heavy and pointed, but only for a second. Then his eyes crinkle up and he laughs. “Whatever you’ve got,” he says. “I could eat a whole sea king.”

“Sea king it is,” Thatch says, turning away. He takes a step towards the coldbox and his foot moves under him, flying up and dumping him on his butt.

There’s loud laughter, and Thatch sits up groggily and looks for what he’s tripped on.

Well. Looks like his own personal nightmare is laughing at him and will be around for the foreseeable future, but hey, at least he found that potato peeler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently my headcanon for Thatch is basically Jesse McCree's, but with, y'know, pirates


	26. check your facts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for teacher!Law to write gullible on the ceiling and see who fell for it

The sky,” Law says, leaning forward on his desk, “is green today.”

All the students in the room looked back at him with confusion, and he sighed internally. Another batch of useless kids who haven’t ever been allowed to think for themselves. What is the education system coming to these days?

“Whoa! It really is!”

Law’s head whips around and there’s one kid hanging halfway up a window, face pressed against the glass. He must’ve not even been in his seat if Law didn’t notice him.

“The sky’s not green, Luffy,” a redhead next to the kid says, pulling him off the window. “C’mon, sit back down.”

“It is!” Apparently-Luffy says, and Law frowns at him. That name sounds familiar somehow….

“The sky’s blue,” another kid in the back says derisively.

“One time, I painted the sky in so many pretty colors that it’s been trying to copy it ever since!” says another down front to Luffy. “That’s why we have sunsets!”

“Whoa!” Luffy says, eyes sparkling. “Really?”

“No,” Law answers, knocking on fist against the desk to get attention back on him. “Sunsets are caused by the movement of molecules changing the directions of light rays, not paint.”

“But then why is the sky green?”

“The sky’s not green!” several people yell, and Law has a quick and traumatic flashback to a different large group saying similar things to someone else entirely, and he remembers where he’s heard the name before.

“You,” he says, pointing to Luffy. “You’re Portgas’s little brother, aren’t you?”

Luffy _beams_. “Yup!” he says proudly, and Law closes his eyes for a half-second, fighting the urge to sigh or bang his head on the desk. This semester’s gonna be a treat.

“Of course you would be,” he mutters, then he looks over the class and says, “Congratulations. All of you are worse students than Luffy.”

“What?” someone asks.

“This is your first lesson in history, and apparently also in being a student,” Law announces, reaching over to pull the sheet of green tinting off one of the windows. “Never ever take anyone at their word, but don’t dismiss it either.

“Lesson one,” he says, leaning back to watch as everyone looks through windows that do, in fact, make the sky look green. “Check your facts.”


	27. they say the meek will inherit the earth (they're wrong)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ask was for Pops vs a horrible monster that even his sons couldn't defeat

“–and then he told me the paperwork was _yikes!”  
_

“The wha _aaaaah shit_ what–! What is that thing!”

“Holy shit it’s the size of a _rowboat_!”

“Punch it in the face!”

“I’m not getting near it! _You_ punch it in the face!”

“Me? Hell no! I’m not–oh, oi Marco! Marco, help!”

“Huh? Something wrong? What’s….oh no.”

“Save us, Marco! You’re immortal, right?!”

“I’m not _that_ immortal, thanks. No way am I– _shit!”  
_

“Here it comes!”

“Hmm? Is something going on here, sons?”

“Pops! Oh, thank goodness you’re here! Pops, _save us_!”

“Of course! Oh, hello, Marco. You haven’t sat on my shoulder like that in years. What am I saving you from?”

“What do you mean, from what? From that!”

“From that vile, evil–”

“–creepy undying–”

“–monstrous and _fast,_ no, oh no!–”

“–skittering nightmare the size of a bus!”

“I don’t see anything, sons. Are you sure–”

“ _It moved_!”

“–oh. Is that a cockroach? No matter, my children.” 

“Ooooohhhh wow. Okay. Is it dead?”

“Nothing can survive Pops’ Stomp of Death, yoi.”

“Yeah, but cockroaches _don’t die_.”

“Then we shall see if their corpses can swim. There, it’s overboard. Thatch, put your brother down.”

“Me? He’s the one that jumped into my arms! And you’re the one holding Marco!”

“I’m sitting on my own, yoi.”

“ _On_ Pops’ shoulder.”

“And yet you’re still in Thatch’s arms. Oh, he dropped you. That looks like it hurt, yoi.”

“Screw you too, fire chicken! You were just as scared as we were!”

“Speak for yourself, Ace. I wasn’t scared at all.”

“ _Liar!”  
_

“Guararara, it’s certainly never boring here! Come, my sons! Let’s celebrate our victory with some sake!”

“Pops, _no.”_


	28. the sky, stars, dog, and other things that are up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for broken-hearted Thatch

“So what’s up?” Ace asks, falling to sit beside him.

“Up?” Thatch says, taking another swig from his bottle. “Nothing’s up. Stars are up. Look, aren’t they pretty?”

“Sure,” Ace says without looking at them.

“I like the stars,” Thatch says, leaning back on his other hand and gesturing with the bottle. “They’re, y’know. Pretty. And constant.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Yeah. They’re–” Thatch cuts off and drinks some more.

“Hey, Thatch?” Ace asks, leaning forward onto the rail in front of them.

“Yeah, Ace?”

“Are you okay?”

Thatch sighs. “I’m–” he says, then closes his mouth. Then he says. “I will be. It just–hurts. A bit.”

Ace makes a noise beside him, and he doesn’t try to figure out what it means.

“It’s fine, you know?” Thatch says. “It was her right. I’m dangerous to know. I’m wanted. I’m a pirate. I swore loyalty to Pops, and that has to come before any other promise I ever make. I don’t blame her, not really.”

“But it hurts,” Ace says, and Thatch has to laugh.

“Yeah, of course it hurts,” he says. “Rejection always hurts. Relationships hurt, Ace; falling in love is dumb.”

“Mmm,” Ace says, then steals his bottle. “Then why do it?”

Thatch lets his arm splay wide so he can fall to his back with a thump. “It’s not a choice,” he says to the stars. “It just happens. People fall in love, and other people don’t love them back. People offer up their hearts and get hurt, and then they do it again.”

Ace sighs beside him, and then sets the bottle down next to his hand. He picks it up and does an awkward kind of crunch to get it to his mouth without spilling it.

“You deserve better anyway,” Ace says like he’s quoting something.

Thatch drains the bottle, then tosses it up and forward, listening for the splash of it hitting the water. “Even I do,” he says eventually, “it doesn’t matter.”

“Sure it does,” Ace says but he doesn’t sound convinced.

“It’s never a question of what we deserve,” Thatch says. “It’s, y’know.”

There’s a silence. Thatch thinks maybe Ace _doesn’t_ know, but eh, whatever. He needs another bottle.

“I’ll miss her,” he says instead. “I wish her well and I hope she marries that douchebag baker idiot that makes her happy. But I’m gonna miss her.”

“Yeah,” Ace says, and there’s silence for a while. Finally, Ace lays down next to him to look up too. “Huh,” he says. “The stars really are pretty tonight.”

“Yeah,” Thatch says. “Aren’t they?”


	29. stitch it up to hold it in (and let's begin the dance again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for Thatch having a nightmare and messing up

“What’s wrong?” Marco asks, bracing his knee in Thatch’s spine.

“Well, there’s a hole in my side,” Thatch says back, trying to hold still.

“And that’s not like you, yoi. You were off your game. What’s wrong?”

“Ow, ow, ow, _ow_ –okay! I’m tired! Ow! Try being gentle for a change!”

“Tired? How does being tired get you shot?”

“I had a nightmare last night. I know it sounds stupid, but–ahh, shit, that burns–but it was bad. And I didn’t sleep after. And I was tired and not paying attention–”

“–and you got shot, yoi.”

“And I got shot.”

“Mmm. What was it about?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because it upset you, yoi. Of course I care.”

Thatch sighs. “I know,” he says, wiggling down further on the bed. “I’m just–sorry.”

Marco huffs and starts on the stitches. “So? Distract yourself. Tell me about it.”

“It…wasn’t really clear. It was black, I remember. Really dark and, and…hungry? Ow! Shit, Marco, be careful! Uh, it was…there was something that wanted to swallow the world, and I set it free.”

“And?”

“What and?”

“And that wouldn’t be enough to throw you this badly, yoi.”

“…and you died. You died, and Ace, and Pops, and so many of our brothers were just…eaten. By the dark. And it was my fault. And– _ow!”  
_

“M’not dead, Thatch.”

“I know that–”

“I’m not gonna die, either.”

“I know _that_ , too.”

“It was a dream.”

“Yeah, I know, but that’s the thing about dreams, Marco; they aren’t logical. They don’t make sense. They’re just– _stab me one more time I dare you_.”

Marco smiles and ties off the thread. “No more stabbing, yoi. There, you’re gonna be fine now.”

Thatch sighs, but it’s been a long day, there’s a hole in his side, and his hair is a complete mess. If he wants to be childish, he’s earned the right. So he curls into Marco’s lap and says, “Promise?”

“Yeah, Thatch,” Marco says, running careful fingers through messy hair. “I promise.”


	30. don't just eat random plants guys oh my god

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ask was for Ace's Weird Jungle Knowledge TM

“Don’t _eat_ that,” Ace says, slapping the plant out of Thatch’s hand.

Thatch sputters but drops it. “Don’t _what_?” he says. “Did you, Bottomless Stomach Ace, just tell me not to eat something?”

Ace just gives him a look. “Well, you _can_. if you don’t mind being sick for a week.”

Thatch squints down at the plant. “It’s grinsley,” he says slowly. “It’s an herb, Ace. It seasons food. It’s not dangerous.”

Ace scoffs. “I know what grinsley is, Thatch, c’mon, but that’s not it. It’s–” He doesn’t finish, and Thatch looks at him. Ace slowly goes a bit red. “Okay, so I don’t know the actual name! We called it leak weed!”

“Leak weed,” Thatch repeats.

“Yeah. Cause it, y’know. Makes you leak.”

“Oh, _ew_.” Thatch backpedals from the herb on the ground. “How can you tell?”

“The underside of the leaves,” Ace says, squatting to pick it up. “Look here, you see how they’re a darker green below? Grinsley is the same color on both sides.”

Thatch leans in a bit, but both sides look the same to him. Then again, he’s used to dried spices, not picking his own. “How’d you know that?”

“Uh,” Ace says, and looks away. “You, uh. Tend to notice after you’ve mixed them up once or twice.”

“Leak weed,” Thatch repeats, looking at the innocuous plant in Ace’s hand. “Hey,” he says, holding out the basket. “Mind looking through these for me?”

“Sure,” Ace says, taking the basket. “Ooh, this is good. Mmm, yeah, okay, okay, nope, this is bad, nope, yeah–oh. Hey,” he says, waving a mushroom. “Where’d you find this?”

“Back there,” Thatch says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Why?”

“This is a special kind of mushroom,” Ace says, heading in the direction Thatch pointed. “It only grows in certain areas, but if you found one, there’s probably a lot more.”

“Special mushroom,” Thatch repeats, and then his eyebrows shoot up. “Like, a _special_ mushroom?”

“What? _No!_ It’s a truffle, not a trip!”

“It’s a _what?_ Gimme that back, holy shit, do you know how much those things are worth?”

“Yeah, of course I do! That’s why I wanna go find more!”

“Ace,” Thatch says, cradling the mushroom in gentle hands. “You are my favorite and as thanks I’m never ever gonna ask you how you know any of this.”

“Sure,” Ace says, eyes on the ground. “And leak weed?”

“Never mentioned again,” Thatch promises.


	31. learn you a thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask was for school AU where Marco falls asleep on his desk

“…and don’t forget to send me the outline. I have student council duties on Friday and work on the weekend, so it needs to be tomorrow, yoi.”

“Gotcha,” Haruta says, grabbing the books and making for the door. “I’ll send it tonight!”

“Geez, Marco,” Thatch says, elbowing him. “When do you sleep?”

“I don’t,” Marco says, grabbing his messenger bag and shouldering it. “Sleep is for the weak, and people without troublesome younger brothers.”

“That’s true,” Ace agrees, stretching in his seat. “I’m always afraid I’m gonna wake up to the house burning down and Luffy saying ‘oops’.”

“Exactly, yoi,” Marco says. “You still planning to come by?”

“Yeah, if you’re still okay with it.”

“It’s cool,” Thatch answers for him. “We gotta get through this math set and you know I’m bad at literature.”

Ace smiles because Thatch is not at all bad at literature, but if agreeing to the lie is what it takes to get him into the Whitebeards’ study sessions, then he’ll do it with an actual smile. “Okay,” he says, getting up and following them out of the classroom.

The walk to the Whitebeards’ house is loud and chaotic. He doesn’t know how many of them there are, as the family members are always rushing to catch up or peeling off for other obligations, but the crowd that makes it to the front door makes up in volume what it lacks in size.

“Tadaima,” everyone choruses, and Ace keeps a smile on his face and his mouth shut, even when Whitebeard calls back a welcome. He toes off his shoes with the rest of them and follows Marco up to the room they always study in.

Thatch comes in a few minutes later, having stopped to get snacks for them. “C’mon,” he says, setting the tray down on the low table. “Let’s get started on math.”

“Sure,” Ace says, but he slides a glance to Marco, over at his desk. 

Thatch catches his gaze, then hemakes a noise and says, “He’s fine, he doesn’t need help.”

“Sure,” Ace says again, though he wonders. But it’s not for him to intrude, so he flips open his notebook and starts slamming his head against quadratic equations.

As he predicted, Thatch is the one who ends up explaining the lietmotif of the literature assignment to him instead of the other way around, but he smiles and writes it down anyway. They debate back and forth for a while on whether it’s eyes or sight, eventually decide on both, and laugh quietly about the fate of a side character for a second.

Finally, though, Thatch sits back and stretches. “Ugh,” he says. “Homework, right?”

“Homework,” Ace agrees. It’s getting late, though, and he’s gotta go if he’s gonna have dinner ready when Luffy gets home. Besides, they got enough done that he won’t be up all night finishing it.

“Yeah,” Thatch says, and gets up. “Hey, Marco, I’m gonna–”

Ace looks over to see why he stopped, but the answer is obvious. Marco’s facedown in his textbook, shoulders rising and falling slightly. “Heh,” Thatch says. “I thought sleep was for the weak.” 

He still lightly drapes a blanket over Marco’s shoulders, though, and uses cartoon-level sneaking techniques to exit the room. Ace just huffs and tosses his bag over his shoulder, following with a more reasonable tread. 

They make it all the way down the stairs and Thatch is saying something about a study group for finals when a voice calls his name from the living room.

Thatch wanders in and Ace trails behind him. “Yeah, Pops?”

Whitebeard is the biggest man Ace has ever seen, but not the most intimidating. He’s always been nice to Ace, even when Ace was surly and rude to him and trying to fight every single one of his sons. “Hello, Ace,” he says now. “It’s always good to see you here.”

Ace looks down so he pretend he’s not blushing. “Y–yeah,” he says, but he has manners, so he adds, “Thanks for having me.”

“I’m glad you’re coming by,” Whitebeard says. “Are you sure you won’t stay for dinner?”

“I can’t,” Ace says. “I’m afraid I have a previous obligation.”

Thatch slaps his shoulder, and he’s surprised enough to have to take a step forward. “No need to be so formal with us,” Thatch says, laughing. 

“A–ah,” Ace says, then nods even though he has absolutely no intention of dropping it. How’s he supposed to talk to this man without the script manners provides? “Yeah, okay.”

“My sons speak highly of you,” Whitebeard continues. “Especially Marco; he says you’re the smartest person he’s met in a long time.”

“Oh,” Ace says. “Uh. I–” but he has nothing. Marco said that? About him? “He’s–asleep,” he blurts.

Whitebeard doesn’t laugh at him, simply nods. “He’s been working too hard lately. Thank you for telling me, son. I’ll head up and take care of him.”

“I–” Ace says, tripping over that casual _son_. “Okay.”

“Do come back soon, Ace,” Whitebeard says, beaming at him. “Have a good night!”

“You too,” Ace says more out of habit than sincerity, and he lets Thatch steer him towards the door.

“He means it,” Thatch tells him as he ushers him outside.

“I know,” Ace says, and he does. That’s what he’s afraid of.


End file.
